M 


CASANOVA'S  HOMECOMING 


1^50  Copies  of  This  Book  Have  Been 
Printed,  of  Which  This  is 


CASANOVAS 
HOMECOMING 


BY 

ARTHUR  SCHNITZLER 


NEW  YOEK 
PRIVATELY  PRINTED  FOR  SUBSCRIBERS  ONLY 

1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY 
ARTHUR  SCHNITZLER 


Phinted  in  United  States  of  America 


The  Translation  of  this  book  was  made  by 
Eden  and  Cedar  Paul 


CASANOVA'S  HOMECOMING 


CHAPTER   ONE. 

CASANOVA  was  in  his  fifty-third  year. 
Though  no  longer  driven  by  the  lust  of 
adventure  that  had  spurred  him  in  his 
youth,  he  was  still  hunted  athwart  the  world, 
hunted  now  by  a  restlessness  due  to  the  approach 
of  old  age.  His  yearning  for  Venice,  the  city  of 
his  birth,  grew  so  intense  that,  like  a  wounded 
bird  slowly  circling  do^vnwards  in  its  death  flight, 
he  began  to  move  in  ever-narrowing  circles. 
Again  and  again,  during  the  last  ten  years  of  his 
exile,  he  had  implored  the  Supreme  Council  for 
leave  to  return  home.  Erstwhile,  in  the  drafting 
of  these  petitions  —  a  work  in  which  he  was  a  past 
master  —  a  defiant,  wilful  spirit  seemed  to  have 
guided  his  pen;  at  times  even  he  appeared  to  take 
a  grim  delight  in  his  frowardness.  But  of  late 
his  requests  had  been  couched  in  humble,  beseech- 
ing words  which  displayed,  ever  more  plainly,  the 
ache  of  homesickness  and  genuine  repentance. 

The  sins  of  his  earlier  years  (the  most  unpar- 
donable to  the  Venetian  councillors  was  his  free- 

[   3   ] 


CASANOVA    S       HOMECOMING 

thinking,  not  his  dissoluteness,  or  quarrelsome- 
ness, or  rather  sportive  knavery)  were  by  degrees 
passing  into  oblivion,  and  so  Casanova  had  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  confidence  that  he  would  receive 
a  hearing.  The  history  of  his  marvellous  escape 
from  The  Leads  of  Venice,  which  he  had  re- 
counted on  innumerable  occasions  at  the  courts  of 
princes,  in  the  palaces  of  nobles,  at  the  supper 
tables  of  burghers,  and  in  houses  of  ill  fame,  was 
beginning  to  make  people  forget  any  disrepute 
which  had  attached  to  his  name.  Moreover,  in 
letters  to  INIantua,  where  he  had  been  staying  for 
two  months,  persons  of  influence  had  conveyed 
hope  to  the  adventurer,  whose  inward  and  out- 
ward lustre  were  gradually  beginning  to  fade, 
that  ere  long  there  would  come  a  favorable  turn  in 
his  fortunes. 

Since  his  means  were  now  extremely  slender, 
Casanova  had  decided  to  await  the  expected  par- 
don in  the  modest  but  respectable  inn  where  he 
had  stayed  in  happier  years.  To  make  only  pass- 
ing mention  of  less  spiritual  amusements,  with 
which  he  could  not  wholly  dispense  —  he  spent 
most  of  his  time  in  writing  a  polemic  against  the 
slanderer  Voltaire,  hoping  that  the  publication  of 
this  document  would  serve,  upon  his  return  to 

[   4   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Venice,  to  give  him  unchallenged  position  and 
prestige  in  the  eyes  of  all  well-disposed  citizens. 

One  morning  he  went  out  for  a  walk  beyond  the 
town  limits  to  excogitate  the  final  touches  for 
some  sentences  that  were  to  annihilate  the  infidel 
Frenchman.  Suddenly  he  fell  prey  to  a  disquiet 
that  almost  amounted  to  physical  distress.  He 
turned  over  in  his  mind  the  life  he  had  been 
leading  for  the  last  three  months.  It  had  grown 
wearisomely  familiar  —  the  morning  walks  into 
the  country,  the  evenings  spent  in  gambling  for 
petty  stakes  with  the  reputed  Baron  Perotti  and 
the  latter 's  pock-marked  mistress.  He  thought  of 
the  affection  lavished  upon  himself  by  his  hostess, 
a  woman  ardent  but  no  longer  young.  He 
thought  of  how  he  had  passed  his  time  over  the 
writings  of  Voltaire  and  over  the  composition  of 
an  audacious  rejoinder  which  until  that  moment 
had  seemed  to  him  by  no  means  inadequate.  Yet 
now,  in  the  dulcet  atmosphere  of  a  morning  in  late 
summer,  all  these  things  appeared  stupid  and 
repulsive. 

Muttering  a  curse  without  really  knowing  upon 
whose  head  he  wished  it  to  alight,  gripping  the 
hilt  of  his  sword,  darting  angry  glances  in  all 
directions  as  if  invisible  scornful  eyes  were  watch- 

[   5   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

ing  him  in  the  surrounding  solitude,  he  turned  on 
his  heel  and  retraced  his  steps  back  to  the  town, 
determined  to  make  arrangements  that  very  hour 
for  immediate  departure.  He  felt  convinced  that 
a  more  genial  mood  would  possess  him  were  he  to 
diminish  even  by  a  few  miles  the  distance  that 
separated  him  from  the  home  for  which  he  longed. 
It  was  necessary  to  hasten,  so  that  he  might  be 
sure  of  booking  a  place  in  the  diligence.  It  was 
to  leave  at  eventide  by  the  eastward  road.  There 
was  little  else  to  do,  for  he  really  need  not  bother 
to  pay  a  farewell  visit  to  Baron  Perotti.  Half 
an  hour  would  suffice  for  the  packing  of  all  his 
possessions.  He  thought  of  the  two  suits,  the 
shabbier  of  which  he  was  wearing  at  that  moment ; 
of  the  much  darned,  though  once  elegant,  under- 
linen.  With  two  or  three  snuffboxes,  a  gold 
watch  and  chain,  and  a  few  books,  these  comprised 
his  whole  worldly  wealth.  He  called  to  mind 
past  splendors,  when  he  had  travelled  as  a  man  of 
distinction,  driving  in  a  fine  carriage;  when  he 
had  been  well  furnished  both  with  necessaries  and 
with  superfluities ;  when  he  had  even  had  his  own 
servingman  —  who  had  usually,  of  course,  been  a 
rogue.  These  memories  brought  impotent  anger 
in  their  train,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

[   6   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

A  young  woman  drove  towards  him,  whip  in 
hand.  In  her  little  cart,  amid  sacks  and  various 
odds  and  ends,  lay  her  husband,  drunk  and  snor- 
ing. Casanova  strode  by  beneath  the  chestnut 
trees  that  lined  the  highway,  his  face  working  with 
wrath,  unintelligible  phrases  hissing  from  between 
his  clenched  teeth.  The  woman  glanced  at  him 
inquisitively  and  mockingly  at  first,  then,  on  en- 
countering an  angry  glare,  with  some  alarm,  and 
finally,  after  she  had  passed,  there  was  amorous 
invitation  in  the  look  she  gave  him  over  her 
shoulder.  Casanova,  who  was  well  aware  that 
rage  and  hatred  can  assume  the  semblance  of 
youth  more  readily  than  can  gentleness  and  ami- 
ability, was  prompt  to  realize  that  a  bold  response 
on  his  part  would  bring  the  cart  to  a  standstill, 
and  that  the  young  woman  would  be  ready  to  give 
him  any  assignation  he  pleased.  Nevertheless, 
although  the  recognition  of  this  fact  put  him  in  a 
better  humor  for  the  nonce,  it  seemed  hardly 
worth  while  to  waste  minutes  upon  so  trivial  an 
adventure.  He  was  content,  therefore,  to  allow 
the  peasant  woman  to  drive  her  cart  and  all  its 
contents  imimpeded  through  the  dust  of  the 
roadway. 

The  sun  was  now  high  in  the  heavens,  and  the 

[   7   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

shade  of  the  trees  hardly  tempered  the  heat. 
Casanova  was  soon  compelled  to  moderate  his 
pace. 

Under  the  thick  powder  of  dust  the  shabbiness 
of  his  garments  was  no  longer  apparent,  so  that 
by  his  dress  and  bearing  he  might  easily  have  been 
taken  for  a  gentleman  of  station  who  had  been 
pleased  for  once  in  a  way  to  walk  instead  of  drive. 
He  had  almost  reached  the  arched  gateway  near 
his  inn,  when  he  met  a  heavy  country  carriage 
lumbering  along  the  road.  In  it  was  seated  a 
stoutish  man,  well  dressed,  and  still  fairly  young. 
His  hands  were  clasped  across  his  stomach,  his 
ej^elids  drooped,  and  he  seemed  about  to  doze  off, 
when  of  a  sudden  he  caught  sight  of  Casanova, 
and  a  great  change  took  place  in  him.  His  whole 
aspect  betrayed  great  excitement.  He  sprang  to 
his  feet,  but  too  quickly,  and  fell  back  into  his 
seat.  Rising  again,  he  gave  the  driver  a  punch  in 
the  back,  to  make  the  fellow  pull  up.  But  since 
the  carriage  did  not  stop  instantly,  the  passenger 
turned  round  so  as  not  to  lose  sight  of  Casanova, 
signalled  with  both  hands,  and  finally  called  to 
him  thrice  by  name,  in  a  thin,  clear  voice.  Not 
till  he  heard  the  voice,  did  Casanova  recognize 
who  it  was.      By  now  the  carriage  had  stopped, 

[   8   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

and  Casanova  smilingly  seized  two  hands  out- 
stretched towards  him,  saying: 

"Olivo,  is  it  really  you?" 

"Yes,  Signor  Casanova,  it  is  I.  You  recognize 
me,  then?" 

"Why  not?  Since  I  last  saw  you,  on  your  wed- 
ding day,  you've  put  on  flesh;  but  very  likely 
I've  changed  a  good  deal,  too,  in  these  fifteen 
years,  though  not  perhaps  in  the  same  fashion." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  exclaimed  Olivo.  "Why, 
Signor  Casanova,  you  have  hardly  changed  at  all ! 
And  it  is  more  than  fifteen  years;  the  sixteen 
years  were  up  a  few  days  ago.  As  you  can  im- 
agine, Amalia  and  I  had  a  good  talk  about  you  on 
the  anniversary  of  our  wedding." 

"Indeed?"  said  Casanova  cordially.  "You 
both  think  of  me  at  times?" 

The  tears  came  to  Olivo's  eyes.  He  was  still 
holding  Casanova's  hands,  and  he  pressed  them 
fondly. 

"We  have  so  much  to  thank  you  for,  Signor 
Casanova.  How  could  we  ever  forget  our  bene- 
factor?    Should  we  do  so    .    .    ." 

"Don't  speak  of  it,"  interrupted  Casanova. 
"How  is  Signora  Amalia?  Do  you  know,  I  have 
been  living  in  Mantua  three  months,  very  quietly 

[  9   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

to  be  sure,  but  taking  plenty  of  walks  as  I  always 
have  done.  How  is  it,  Olivo,  that  I  never  met 
you  or  your  wife  before?" 

"The  matter  is  simple,  Signor  Casanova.  Both 
Amalia  and  I  detest  the  town,  and  we  gave  up 
living  there  a  long  time  ago.  Would  you  do  me 
the  favor  to  jump  in?  We  shall  be  at  home  in 
an  hour." 

Casanova  tried  to  excuse  himself,  but  Olivo  in- 
sisted. 

"I  will  take  no  denial.  How  delighted  Amalia 
will  be  to  see  you  once  more,  and  how  proud  to 
show  you  our  three  children.  Yes,  we  have  three, 
Signor  Casanova.  All  girls.  Thirteen,  ten,  and 
eight  —  not  one  of  them  old  enough  yet  —  you'll 
excuse  me,  won't  you  —  to  have  her  head  turned 
by  Casanova." 

He  laughed  good-humoredly,  and  made  as  if  to 
help  Casanova  into  the  carriage.  The  latter 
shook  his  head.  He  had  been  tempted  for  a  mo- 
ment by  natural  curiosity  to  accept  Olivo's  invi- 
tation. Then  his  impatience  returned  in  full 
force,  and  he  assured  his  would-be  host  that  un- 
fortunately urgent  business  called  him  away  from 
Mantua  that  very  afternoon. 

What  could  he  expect  to  find  in  Olivo's  house? 
[  10  ] 


Casanova's     homecoming 

Sixteen  years  were  a  long  time!  Ainalia  would 
be  no  younger  and  no  prettier.  At  his  age,  a  girl 
of  thirteen  would  not  find  him  interesting.  Olivo, 
too,  whom  he  had  known  in  old  days  as  a  lean  and 
eager  student,  was  now  a  portly,  countrified 
paterfamilias.  The  proposed  visit  did  not  offer 
sufficient  attractions  to  induce  Casanova  to  aban- 
don a  journey  that  was  to  bring  him  thirty  or 
forty  miles  nearer  to  Venice. 

Olivo,  however,  was  disinclined  to  take  no  for 
an  answer.  Casanova  must  at  least  accept  a  lift 
back  to  the  inn,  a  kindly  suggestion  that  could 
not  decently  be  refused.  It  was  only  a  few  min- 
utes' drive.  The  hostess,  a  buxom  woman  in  the 
middle  thirties,  welcomed  Casanova  with  a  glance 
that  did  not  fail  to  disclose  to  Olivo  the  tender 
relationship  between  the  pair.  She  shook  hands 
with  Olivo  as  an  old  acquaintance.  She  was  a 
customer  of  Signor  Olivo's,  she  explained  to  Casa- 
nova, for  an  excellent  medium-dry  wine  grown  on 
his  estate. 

Olivo  hastened  to  announce  that  the  Chevalier 
de  Seingalt  (the  hostess  had  addressed  Casanova 
by  this  title,  and  Olivo  promptly  followed  suit) 
was  so  churlish  as  to  refuse  the  invitation  of  an  old 
friend,  on  the  ridiculous  plea  that  to-day  of  all 

[  "  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

days  he  had  to  leave  Mantua.  The  woman's  look 
of  gloom  convinced  Olivo  that  this  was  the  first 
she  had  heard  of  Casanova's  intended  departure, 
and  the  latter  felt  it  desirable  to  explain  that  his 
mention  of  the  journey  had  been  a  mere  pretext, 
lest  he  should  incommode  his  friend's  household 
by  an  unexpected  visit,  and  that  he  had,  in  fact, 
an  important  piece  of  writing  to  finish  during  the 
next  few  days,  and  no  i^lace  was  better  suited  for 
the  work  than  the  inn,  where  his  room  was  agree- 
ably cool  and  quiet. 

Olivo  protested  that  the  Chevalier  de  Seingalt 
would  do  his  modest  home  the  greatest  possible 
honor  by  finishing  the  work  in  question  there.  A 
change  to  the  coimtry  could  not  but  be  helpful  in 
such  an  undertaking.  If  Casanova  should  need 
learned  treatises  and  works  of  reference,  there 
would  be  no  lack  of  them,  for  Olivo's  niece,  the 
daughter  of  a  deceased  half-brother,  a  girl  who 
though  young  was  extremely  erudite,  had  arrived 
a  few  weeks  before  with  a  whole  trunkful  of 
books.  Should  any  guests  drop  in  at  times  of  an 
evening,  the  Chevalier  need  not  put  himself 
about  —  unless,  indeed,  after  the  labors  of  the 
day,  cheerful  conversation  or  a  game  of  cards 
might  offer  welcome  distraction. 

[    12   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Directly  Casanova  heard  of  the  niece,  he  de- 
cided he  would  like  to  make  her  acquaintance,  and 
after  a  show  of  further  reluctance  he  yielded  to 
Olivo's  solicitation,  declaring,  however,  that  on  no 
account  would  he  be  able  to  leave  Mantua  for 
more  than  a  day  or  two.  He  begged  the  hostess 
to  forward  promptly  by  messenger  any  letters 
that  should  arrive  during  his  absence,  since  they 
might  be  of  the  first  importance. 

Matters  having  thus  been  arranged  to  Olivo's 
complete  satisfaction,  Casanova  went  to  his  room, 
made  ready  for  the  journey,  and  returned  to  the 
parlor  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Olivo,  meanwhile, 
had  been  having  a  lively  business  talk  with  the 
hostess.  He  now  rose,  drank  off  his  glass  of  wine, 
and  with  a  significant  wink  promised  to  bring  the 
Chevalier  back,  not  perhaps  to-morrow  or  the  day 
after,  but  in  any  case  in  good  order  and  condition. 
Casanova,  however,  had  suddenly  grown  distrait 
and  irritable.  So  cold  was  his  farewell  to  the 
fond  hostess  that,  at  the  carriage  door,  she  whis- 
pered a  parting  word  in  his  ear  which  was  any- 
thing but  amiable. 

During  the  drive  along  the  dusty  road  beneath 
the  glare  of  the  noonday  sun,  Olivo  gave  a  gar- 
rulous and  somewhat  incoherent  account  of  his 

[    13   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

life  since  the  friends'  last  meeting.  Shortly  after 
his  marriage  he  had  bought  a  plot  of  land  near 
the  town,  and  had  started  in  a  small  way  as  market 
gardener.  Doing  well  at  this  trade,  he  had  grad- 
ually been  able  to  undertake  more  ambitious  farm- 
ing ventures.  At  length,  under  God's  favor,  and 
thanks  to  his  o^vn  and  his  wife's  efficiency,  he  had 
been  able  three  years  earlier  to  buy  from  the  pecu- 
niarily embarrassed  Count  Marazzani  the  latter's 
old  and  somewhat  dilapidated  country  seat  \\dth 
a  vineyard  attached.  He,  his  wife,  and  his  chil- 
dren were  comfortably  settled  upon  this  patrician 
estate,  though  with  no  pretence  to  patrician 
splendor.  All  these  successes  were  ultimately 
due  to  the  hundred  and  fifty  gold  pieces  that  Casa- 
nova had  presented  to  Amalia,  or  rather  to  her 
mother.  But  for  this  magical  aid,  Olivo's  lot 
would  still  have  been  the  same.  He  would  still 
have  been  giving  instruction  in  reading  and  writ- 
ing to  ill-behaved  youngsters.  Most  likely,  he 
would  have  been  an  old  bachelor  and  Amalia  an 
old  maid. 

Casanova  let  him  ramble  on  without  paying 
much  heed.  The  incident  was  one  among  many 
of  the  date  to  which  it  belonged.  As  he  turned  it 
over  in  his  mind,  it  seemed  to  him  the  most  trivial 

[  14  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

of  them  all,  it  had  hardly  even  troubled  the  waters 
of  memory. 

He  had  been  travelling  from  Rome  to  Turin  or 
Paris  —  he  had  forgotten  which.  During  a  brief 
stay  in  Mantua,  he  caught  sight  of  Amalia  in 
church  one  morning.  Pleased  with  her  appear- 
ance, with  her  handsome  but  pale  and  somewhat 
woebegone  face,  he  gallantly  addressed  her  a 
friendly  question.  In  those  days  everyone  had 
been  complaisant  to  Casanova.  Gladly  opening 
her  heart  to  him,  the  girl  told  him  that  she  was 
not  well  off;  that  she  was  in  love  with  an  usher 
who  was  likewise  poor;  that  his  father  and  her 
own  mother  were  both  unwilling  to  give  their  con- 
sent to  so  inauspicious  a  union.  Casanova 
promptly  declared  himself  ready  to  help  matters 
on.  He  sought  an  introduction  to  Amalia's 
mother,  a  good-looking  widow  of  thirty-six  who 
was  still  quite  worthy  of  being  courted.  Ere  long 
Casanova  was  on  such  intimate  terms  with  her 
that  his  word  was  law.  When  her  consent  to  the 
match  had  been  won,  Olivo's  father,  a  merchant  in 
reduced  circumstances,  was  no  longer  adverse,  be- 
ing specially  influenced  by  the  fact  that  Casanova 
(presented  to  him  as  a  distant  relative  of  the 
bride's  mother)  undertook  to  defray  the  expenses 

[  15  ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

of  the  wedding  and  to  provide  part  of  the  dowry. 
To  Amalia,  her  generous  patron  seemed  like  a 
messenger  from  a  higher  world.  She  showed  her 
gratitude  in  the  manner  prompted  by  her  o\mi 
heart.  A^Hien,  the  evening  before  her  wedding, 
she  withdrew  with  glowing  cheeks  from  Casa- 
nova's last  embrace,  she  was  far  from  thinking 
that  she  had  done  any  wrong  to  her  future  hus- 
band, who  after  all  owed  his  happiness  solely  to 
the  amiability  and  open-handedness  of  this  mar- 
vellous friend.  Casanova  had  never  troubled 
himself  as  to  whether  Amalia  had  confessed  to 
Olivo  the  length  to  which  she  had  gone  in  grati- 
tude to  her  benefactor ;  whether,  perchance,  Olivo 
had  taken  her  sacrifice  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
had  not  considered  it  any  reason  for  retrospective 
jealousy;  or  whether  Olivo  had  always  remained 
in  ignorance  of  the  matter.  Nor  did  Casanova 
allow  these  questions  to  harass  his  mind  to-daj^ 

The  heat  continued  to  increase.  The  carriage, 
with  bad  springs  and  hard  cushions,  jolted  the  oc- 
cupants abominably.  Olivo  went  on  chattering 
in  his  high,  thin  voice;  talking  incessantly  of  the 
fertility  of  his  land,  the  excellencies  of  his  wife, 
the  good  behavior  of  his  children,  and  the  innocent 
pleasures   of  intercourse   with  his  neighbors  — 

[  16  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

farmers  and  landed  gentry.  Casanova  was 
bored.  He  began  to  ask  himself  irritably  why  on 
earth  he  had  accepted  an  invitation  which  could 
bring  nothing  but  petty  vexations,  if  not  positive 
disagreeables.  He  thought  longingly  of  the  cool 
parlor  in  Mantua,  where  at  this  very  hour  he 
might  have  been  working  unhindered  at  his 
polemic  against  Voltaire.  He  had  already  made 
up  his  mind  to  get  out  at  an  inn  now  in  sight,  hire 
whatever  conveyance  might  be  available,  and 
drive  back  to  the  town,  when  Olivo  uttered  a  loud 
"Hullo!"  A  pony  trap  suddenly  pulled  up,  and 
their  own  carriage  came  to  a  halt,  as  if  by  mutual 
understanding.  Three  young  girls  sprang  out, 
moving  with  such  activity  that  the  laiife-board  on 
which  they  had  been  sitting  flew  into  the  air  and 
Was  overturned. 

"My  daughters,"  said  Olivo,  turning  to  Casa- 
nova with  a  proprietary  air. 

Casanova  promptly  moved  as  if  to  relinquish 
his  seat  in  the  carriage. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  my  dear  Chevalier,"  said 
Olivo.  "We  shall  be  at  home  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  and  for  that  little  while  we  can  all  make 
shift  together.  Maria,  Nanetta,  Teresina,  this  is 
the    Chevalier    de    Seingalt,    an    old    friend    of 

[    17  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

mine.  Shake  hands  with  him.  But  for  him  you 
would " 

He  broke  off,  and  whispered  to  Casanova:  "I 
was  just  going  to  say  something  foolish." 

Amending  his  phrase,  he  said:  "But  for  him, 
things  would  have  been  very  different!" 

Like  their  father,  the  girls  had  black  hair  and 
dark  eyes.  All  of  them  including  Teresina,  the 
eldest,  who  was  still  quite  the  child,  looked  at  the 
stranger  with  frank  rustic  curiosity.  Casanova 
did  not  stand  upon  ceremony;  he  kissed  each  of 
the  girls  upon  either  cheek.  Olivo  said  a  word  or 
two  to  the  lad  who  was  driving  the  trap  in  which 
the  children  had  come,  and  the  fellow  whipped  up 
the  pony  and  drove  along  the  road  towards 
Mantua. 

Laughing  and  joking,  the  girls  took  possession 
of  the  seat  opposite  Olivo  and  Casanova.  They 
were  closely  packed ;  they  all  spoke  at  once ;  and 
since  their  father  likewise  went  on  talking,  Casa- 
nova found  it  far  from  easy  at  first  to  follow  the 
conversation.  One  name  caught  his  ear,  that  of 
Lieutenant  Lorenzi.  Teresina  explained  that 
the  Lieutenant  had  passed  them  on  horseback  not 
long  before,  had  said  he  intended  to  call  in  the 
evening,  and  had  sent  his  respects  to  Father. 

[    18    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Mother  had  at  first  meant  to  come  with  them  to 
meet  Father,  but  as  it  was  so  frightfully  hot  she 
had  thought  it  better  to  stay  at  home  with  Marco- 
lina.  As  for  Marcolina,  she  was  still  in  bed  when 
they  left  home.  When  they  came  along  the  gar- 
den path  they  had  pelted  her  with  hazel  nuts 
through  the  open  window,  or  she  would  still  be 
asleep. 

"That's  not  Marcolina's  way,"  said  Olivo  to  his 
guest.  "Generally  she  is  at  work  in  the  garden 
at  six  or  even  earlier,  and  sits  over  her  books  till 
dinner  time.  Of  course  we  had  visitors  yesterday, 
and  were  up  later  than  usual.  We  had  a  mild 
game  of  cards  —  not  the  sort  of  game  you  are 
used  to,  for  we  are  innocent  folk  and  don't  want 
to  win  money  from  one  another.  Besides,  our 
good  Abbate  usually  takes  a  hand,  so  you  can 
imagine,  Chevalier,  that  we  don't  play  for  high 
stakes." 

At  the  mention  of  the  Abbate,  the  three 
girls  laughed  again,  had  an  anecdote  to  tell,  and 
this  made  them  laugh  more  than  ever.  Casanova 
nodded  amicably,  without  paying  much  attention. 
In  imagination  he  saw  INIarcolina,  as  yet  unlvno^vn 
to  him,  lying  in  her  white  bed,  opposite  the  win- 
dow.      She  had  thrown  off  the  bedclothes;    her 

[    19   ] 


CASANOVA    S       HOMECOMING 

form  was  half  revealed ;  still  heavy  with  sleep  she 
moved  her  hands  to  \\'ard  off  the  hail  of  nuts.  His 
senses  flamed.  He  was  as  certain  that  Marcolina 
and  Lieutenant  Lorenzi  were  in  love  with  one  an- 
other as  if  he  had  seen  them  in  a  passionate  em- 
brace. He  was  just  as  ready  to  detest  the  un- 
known Lorenzi  as  to  long  for  the  never  seen 
Marcolina. 

Through  the  shimmering  haze  of  noon,  a  small, 
square  tower  now  became  visible,  thrusting  up- 
ward through  the  greyish-green  foliage.  The  car- 
riage turned  into  a  by-road.  To  the  left  were 
vineyards  rising  on  a  gentle  slope;  to  the  right 
the  crests  of  ancient  trees  showed  above  the  wall 
of  a  garden.  The  carriage  halted  at  a  doorway 
in  the  wall.  The  weather-worn  door  stood  wide. 
The  passengers  alighted,  and  at  the  master's  nod 
the  coachman  drove  away  to  the  stable.  A  broad 
path  led  through  a  chestnut  avenue  to  the  house, 
which  at  first  sight  had  an  almost  neglected  ap- 
pearance. Casanova's  attention  was  especially 
attracted  by  a  broken  window  in  the  first  story. 
Nor  did  it  escape  his  notice  that  the  battlements 
of  the  squat  tower  were  crumbling  in  places.  But 
the  house  door  was  gracefully  carved;  and  di- 
rectly he  entered  the  hall  it  was  plain  that  the 

[   20   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

interior  was  carefully  kept,  and  was  certainly  in 
far  better  condition  than  might  have  been  sup- 
posed from  the  outward  aspect. 

"Amalia,"  shouted  Olivo,  so  loudly  that  the 
vaulted  ceiling  rang.  "Come  down  as  quickly  as 
you  can !  I  have  brought  a  friend  home  with  me, 
an  old  friend  whom  you'll  be  delighted  to  see !" 

Amalia  had  already  appeared  on  the  stairs,  al- 
though to  most  of  those  who  had  just  come  out  of 
the  glaring  sunlight  she  was  invisible  in  the  twilit 
interior.  Casanova,  whose  keen  vision  enabled 
him  to  see  well  even  in  the  dark,  had  noted  her 
presence  sooner  than  Olivo.  He  smiled,  and  was 
aware  that  the  smile  made  him  look  younger. 
Amalia  had  not  groAvn  fat,  as  he  had  feared.  She 
was  still  slim  and  youthful.  She  recognized  him 
instantly. 

"What  a  pleasant  surprise!"  she  exclaimed 
without  the  slightest  embarrassment,  hastening 
do^Mi  the  stairs,  and  offering  her  cheek  to  Casa- 
nova. The  latter,  nothing  loath,  gave  her  a 
friendly  hug. 

*'Am  I  really  to  believe,"  said  he,  "that  Maria, 
Nanetta,  and  Teresina  are  your  very  own  daugh- 
ters, Amalia?  No  doubt  the  passage  of  the  years 
makes  it  possible " 

[   21    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

"And  all  the  other  evidence  is  in  keeping,"  sup- 
plemented Olivo.      "Rely  upon  that,  Chevalier!" 

Anialia  let  her  eyes  dwell  reminiscently  upon 
the  guest.  "I  suppose,"  she  said,  "it  was  your 
meeting  with  the  Chevalier  that  has  made  you  so 
late,  Olivo?" 

"Yes,  that  is  why  I  am  late.  But  I  hope  there 
is  still  something  to  eat?" 

"Marcolina  and  I  were  frightfully  hungry,  but 
of  cours6  we  have  waited  dinner  for  you." 

"Can  you  manage  to  wait  a  few  minutes 
longer,"  asked  Casanova,  "while  I  get  rid  of  the 
dust  of  the  drive?" 

"I  will  show  3^ou  your  room  immediately,"  an- 
swered Olivo.  "I  do  hope.  Chevalier,  you  will 
find  it  to  your  taste;  almost  as  much  to  your 
taste,"  he  winked,  and  added  in  a  low  tone,  "as 
your  room  in  the  inn  at  INIantua  —  though  here 
one  or  two  little  things  may  be  lacking." 

He  led  the  way  upstairs  into  the  gallery  sur- 
rounding the  hall.  From  one  of  the  corners  a 
narrow  wooden  stairway  led  into  the  tower.  At 
the  top,  Olivo  opened  the  door  into  the  turret 
chamber,  and  politely  invited  Casanova  to  enter 
the  modest  guest  chamber.  A  maidservant 
brought  up  the  valise.      Casanova  was  then  left 

[   22   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

alone  in  a  medium-sized  room,  simply  furnished, 
but  equipped  with  all  necessaries.  It  had  four 
tall  and  narrow  bay-windows,  commanding  views 
to  the  four  points  of  the  compass,  across  the  sunlit 
plain  with  its  green  vineyards,  bright  meadows, 
golden  fields,  white  roads,  light-colored  houses, 
and  dusky  gardens.  Casanova  concerned  himself 
little  about  the  view,  and  hastened  to  remove  the 
stains  of  travel,  being  impelled  less  by  hunger 
than  by  an  eager  curiosity  to  see  Marcolina  face 
to  face.  He  did  not  change,  for  he  wished  to 
reserve  his  best  suit  for  evening  wear. 


[   23   ] 


CHAPTER    TWO. 

WHEN  Casanova  reentered  the  hall,  a 
panelled  chamber  on  the  ground  floor, 
there  were  seated  at  the  well-furnished 
board,  his  host  and  hostess,  their  three  daughters, 
and  a  young  woman.  She  was  wearing  a  simple 
grey  dress  of  some  shimmering  material.  She 
had  a  graceful  figure.  Her  gaze  rested  on  him 
as  frankly  and  indifferently  as  if  he  were  a  mem- 
ber of  the  household,  or  had  been  a  guest  a  hun- 
dred times  before.  Her  face  did  not  light  up  in 
the  way  to  which  he  had  grown  accustomed  in 
earlier  years,  when  he  had  been  a  charming  youth, 
or  later  in  his  handsome  prime.  But  for  a  good 
while  now  Casanova  had  ceased  to  expect  this 
from  a  new  acquaintance.  Nevertheless,  even  of 
late  the  mention  of  his  name  had  usually  sufficed 
to  arouse  on  a  woman's  face  an  expression  of  tardy 
admiration,  or  at  least  some  trace  of  regret,  which 
was  an  admission  that  the  hearer  would  have  loved 
to  meet  him  a  few  years  earlier.  Yet  now,  when 
Olivo  introduced  him   to  Marcolina   as   Signor 

[   25   ] 


CASANOVA    S       HOMECOäIING 

Casanova,  Chevalier  de  Seingalt,  she  smiled  as 
she  would  have  smiled  at  some  utterly  indifferent 
name  that  carried  with  it  no  aroma  of  adventure 
and  myster5^  Even  when  he  took  his  seat  by  her 
side,^  kissed  her  hand,  and  allowed  his  eyes  as  they 
dwelt  on  her  to  gleam  with  delight  and  desire,  her 
manner  betrayed  nothing  of  the  demure  gi'atifica- 
tion  that  might  have  seemed  an  approj^riate 
ans\\'er  to  so  ardent  a  wooing. 

After  a  few  polite  commonplaces,  Casanova 
told  his  neighbor  that  he  had  been  informed  of  her 
intellectual  attainments,  and  asked  what  was  her 
chosen  subject  of  study.  Her  chief  interest,  she 
rejoined,  was  in  the  higher  mathematics,  to  which 
she  had  been  introduced  by  Professor  Morgagni, 
the  renowned  teacher  at  the  university  of  Bologna. 
Casanova  expressed  his  surprise  that  so  charming 
a  young  lady  should  have  an  interest,  certainly 
exceptional,  in  a  dry  and  difficult  subject.  Mar- 
colina  replied  that  in  her  view  the  higher  mathe- 
matics was  the  most  imaginative  of  all  the 
sciences ;  one  might  even  say  that  its  nature  made 
it  akin  to  the  divine.  When  Casanova  asked  for 
further  enlightenment  upon  a  view  so  novel  to 
him,  Marcolina  modestly  declined  to  continue  the 
topic,  declaring  that  the  others  at  table,  and  above 

[   26   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

all  her  uncle,  would  much  rather  hear  some  details 
of  a  newly  recovered  friend's  travels  than  listen 
to  a  philosophical  disquisition. 

Amalia  was  prompt  to  second  the  proposal; 
and  Casanova,  always  willing  to  oblige  in  this 
matter,  said  in  easy-going  fashion  that  during  re- 
cent years  he  had  been  mainly  engaged  in  secret 
diplomatic  missions.  To  mention  only  places  of 
importance,  he  had  continually  been  going  to  and 
fro  between  Madrid,  Paris,  London,  Amsterdam, 
and  St.  Petersburg.  He  gave  an  account  of 
meetings  and  conversations,  some  grave  and  some 
gay,  with  men  and  women  of  all  classes,  and  did 
not  forget  to  speak  of  his  friendly  reception  at 
the  court  of  Catharine  of  Russia.  He  jestingly 
related  how  Frederick  the  Great  had  nearly  ap- 
pointed him  instructor  at  a  cadet  school  for  Pom- 
eranian junkers  —  a  danger  from  which  he  had 
escaped  by  a  precipitous  flight.  Of  these  and 
many  other  things  he  spoke  as  recent  happenings, 
although  in  reality  they  had  occurred  years  or 
decades  before.  Romancing  freely,  he  was  hardly 
conscious  when  he  was  lying  either  on  a  small 
scale  or  on  a  large,  being  equally  delighted  with 
his  own  conceits  and  with  the  pleasure  he  was 
giving  to  his  auditors. 

[  27] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

While  thus  recounting  real  and  imaginary  in- 
cidents, he  could  almost  delude  himself  into  the 
belief  that  he  was  still  the  bold,  radiant  Casanova, 
the  favorite  of  fortune  and  of  beautiful  women, 
the  honored  guest  of  secular  and  spiritual  princes, 
the  man  whose  spendings  and  gamblings  and  gifts 
must  be  reckoned  in  thousands.  It  was  possible 
for  him  to  forget  that  he  was  a  decayed  starveling, 
supported  by  pitiful  remittances  from  former 
friends  in  England  and  Sx^ain  —  doles  which 
often  failed  to  arrive,  so  that  he  was  reduced  to 
the  few  and  paltry  gold  pieces  which  he  could  win 
from  Baron  Perotti  or  from  the  Baron's  guests. 
He  could  even  forget  that  his  highest  aim  now  was 
to  return  to  his  natal  city  where  he  had  been  cast 
into  prison  and  from  which,  since  his  escape,  he 
had  been  banned ;  to  return  as  one  of  the  meanest 
of  its  citizens,  as  writer,  as  beggar,  as  nonentity; 
to  accept  so  inglorious  a  close  to  a  once  brilliant 
career. 

Marcolina  listened  attentively  like  the  others, 
but  with  the  same  expression  as  if  she  had  been 
listening  to  someone  reading  aloud  from  an  amus- 
ing narrative.  Her  face  did  not  betray  the  re- 
motest realization  of  the  fact  that  the  speaker  was 
Casanova ;  that  she  was  listening  to  the  man  who 

[   28   ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

had  had  all  these  experiences  and  many  more; 
that  she  was  sitting  beside  the  lover  of  a  thousand 
women.     Very  different  was  the  fire  in  Amalia's 
eyes.      To  her,  Casanova  was  the  same  as  ever. 
To  her,  his  voice  was  no  less  seductive  than  it  had 
been  sixteen  years  earlier.      He  could  not  but  be 
aware  that  at  a  word  or  a  sign,  and  as  soon  as  he 
pleased,  he  could  revive  this  old  adventure.     But 
what  to  him  was  Amalia  at  this  hour,  when  he 
longed  for  Marcolina  as  he  had  never  longed  for 
woman  before.     Beneath  the  shimmering  folds  of 
her  dress  he  seemed  to  see  her  naked  body;   her 
firm  young  breasts  allured  him;    once  when  she 
stooped  to  pick  up  her  handkerchief,  Casanova's 
inflamed  fancy  made  him  attach  so  ardent  a  sig- 
nificance to  her  movement  that  he  felt  near  to 
swooning.      INIarcolina  did  not  fail  to  notice  the 
involuntary  pause  in  the  flow  of  his  conversation ; 
she  perceived  that  his  gaze  had  begun  to  flicker 
strangely.      In  her  countenance  he  could  read  a 
sudden  hostility,  a  protest,  a  trace  of  disgust. 

Casanova  speedily  recovered  his  self-command, 
and  was  about  to  continue  his  reminiscences  with 
renewed  vigor,  when  a  portly  priest  entered. 
Olivo  introduced  him  as  Abbate  Rossi,  and  Casa- 
nova at  once  recognized  him  as  the  man  he  had 

[   29   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

met  twenty-seven  years  earlier  upon  a  market 
boat  plying  between  Venice  and  Chioggia. 

"You  had  one  eye  bandaged,"  said  Casanova, 
who  rarely  missed  a  chance  of  showing  off  his  ex- 
cellent memory.  "A  yomig  peasant- woman 
wearing  a  yellow  kerchief  round  her  head  advised 
you  to  use  a  healing  unguent  which  an  apothecary 
with  an  exceedingly  hoarse  voice  happened  to  have 
with  him." 

The  Abbate  nodded,  and  smiled,  well-pleased. 
Then,  with  a  sly  expression,  he  came  quite  close 
to  Casanova,  as  if  about  to  tell  him  a  secret.  But 
he  spoke  out  loud. 

"As  for  you,  Signor  Casanova,  you  were  with 
a  wedding  party.  I  don't  know  whether  you 
were  one  of  the  ordinary  guests  or  whether  you 
were  best  man,  but  I  remember  that  the  bride 
looked  at  you  far  more  languishingly  than  at  the 
bridegroom.  The  wind  rose;  there  was  half  a 
gale;  you  began  to  read  a  risky  poem." 

"No  doubt  the  Chevalier  only  did  so  in  order  to 
lay  the  storm,"  said  Marcolina. 

"I  never  claim  the  powers  of  a  wizard,"  re- 
joined Casanova.  "But  I  will  not  deny  that 
after  I  had  begun  to  read,  no  one  bothered  about 
the  storm." 

[  30  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

The  three  girls  had  encircled  the  Abbate.  For 
an  excellent  reason.  From  his  capacious  pockets 
he  produced  quantities  of  luscious  sweets,  and 
popped  them  into  the  children's  mouths  with  his 
stumpy  fingers.  Meanwhile  Olivo  gave  the  new- 
comer a  circumstantial  account  of  the  rediscovery 
of  Casanova.  Dreamily  Amalia  continued  to 
gaze  at  the  beloved  guest's  masterful  brown  fore- 
head. 

The  children  ran  out  into  the  garden;  Marco- 
lina  had  risen  from  the  table  and  was  watching 
them  through  the  open  window.  The  Abbate 
had  brought  a  message  from  the  Marchese  Celsi, 
who  proposed  to  call  that  evening,  with  his  wife, 
upon  his  dear  friend  Olivo. 

"Excellent,"  said  Olivo.  "We  shall  have  a 
pleasant  game  of  cards  in  honor  of  the  Chevalier. 
I  am  expecting  the  two  Ricardis ;  and  Lorenzi  is 
also  coming  —  the  girls  met  him  out  riding  this 
morning." 

"Is  he  still  here?"  asked  the  Abbate.  "A  week 
ago  I  was  told  he  had  to  rejoin  his  regiment." 

"I  expect  the  Marchesa  got  him  an  extension 
of  leave  from  the  Colonel." 

"I  am  surprised,"  interjected  Casanova,  "that 
any  Mantuese  officers  can  get  leave  at  present." 

[  31  ] 


CASANOA^A    S      HOMECOÄIING 

He  went  on:  "Two  friends  of  mine,  one  from 
JNIantua  and  the  other  from  Cremona,  left  last 
night  with  their  regiments,  marching  towards 
Milan." 

"Has  war  broken  out?"  inquired  INIarcolina 
from  the  window.  She  had  turned  round;  her 
face  betrayed  nothing,  but  there  was  a  slight 
quaver  in  her  voice  which  no  one  but  Casanova 
noticed. 

"It  may  come  to  nothing,"  he  said  lightly. 
"But  the  Sj)aniards  seem  rather  bellicose,  and  it  is 
necessary  to  be  on  the  alert." 

Olivo  looked  important  and  wrinkled  his  brow. 
"Does  anyone  know,"  he  asked,  "whether  we  shall 
side  with  Spain  or  with  France?" 

"I  don't  think  Lieutenant  Lorenzi  will  care  a 
straw  about  that,"  suggested  the  Abbate.  "All 
he  wants  is  a  chance  to  prove  his  military 
prowess." 

"He  has  done  so  already,"  said  Amalia.  "He 
was  in  the  battle  at  Pavia  three  years  ago." 

Marcolina  said  not  a  word. 

Casanova  knew  enough.  He  went  to  the  win- 
dow beside  Marcolina  and  looked  out  into  the 
garden.  He  saw  nothing  but  the  wide  green- 
sward where  the  children  were  playing.      It  was 

[   32   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

surrounded  by  a  close-set  row  of  stately  trees 
within  the  encompassing  wall. 

"What  lovely  grounds,"  he  said,  turning  to 
Olivo.     "I  should  so  like  to  have  a  look  at  them." 

"Nothing  would  please  me  better,  Chevalier," 
answered  Olivo,  "than  to  show  you  my  vineyards 
and  the  rest  of  my  estate.  You  need  only  ask 
Amalia,  and  she  will  tell  you  that  during  the 
years  since  I  bought  this  little  place  I  have  had  no 
keener  desire  than  to  welcome  you  as  guest  upon 
my  own  land  and  under  my  own  roof.  Ten  times 
at  least  I  was  on  the  point  of  writing  you  an  invi- 
tation, but  was  always  withheld  by  the  doubt 
whether  my  letter  would  reach  you.  If  I  did 
happen  to  hear  from  some  one  that  he  had  re- 
cently  seen  you  in  Lisbon,  I  could  be  quite  sure 
that  in  the  interval  you  would  have  left  for  War- 
saw or  Vienna.  Now,  when  as  if  by  miracle  I 
have  caught  you  on  the  i^oint  of  quitting  Mantua, 
and  when  —  I  can  assure  you,  Amalia,  it  was  no 
easy  matter  —  I  have  succeeded  in  enticing  you 
here,  you  are  so  niggard  with  your  time  that  — 
would  you  believe  it,  Signor  Abbate,  he  refuses  to 
spare  us  more  than  a  couple  of  days !" 

"Perhaps  the  Chevalier  will  allow  himself  to  be 
persuaded  to  prolong  his  visit,"  said  the  Abbate, 

[    33    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

who  was  contentedly  munching  a  huge  mouthful 
of  peach.  As  he  spoke,  he  glanced  at  Amalia  in 
a  way  that  led  Casanova  to  infer  that  his  hostess 
had  told  the  Abbate  more  than  she  had  told  her 
husband. 

"I  fear  that  will  be  quite  impossible,"  said  Casa- 
nova with  decision.  "I  need  not  conceal  from 
friends  who  are  so  keenly  interested  in  my  for- 
tunes, that  my  Venetian  fellow-citizens  are  on  the 
point  of  atoning  for  the  injustice  of  earlier  years. 
The  atonement  comes  rather  late,  but  is  all  the 
more  honorable.  I  should  seem  ungrateful,  or 
even  rancorous,  were  I  to  resist  their  importuni- 
ties any  longer."  With  a  wave  of  his  hand  he 
warded  off  an  eager  but  respectful  enquiry  which 
he  saw  taking  shape  upon  his  host's  lips,  and  has- 
tened to  remark:  "Well,  Olivo,  I  am  ready. 
Show  me  your  little  kingdom." 

"Would  it  not  be  wiser,"  interposed  Amalia, 
"to  wait  until  it  is  cooler?  I  am  sure  the  Cheva- 
lier would  prefer  to  rest  for  a  while,  or  to  stroll 
in  the  shade."  Her  eyes  sought  Casanova's  with 
shy  entreaty,  as  if  she  thought  her  fate  would  be 
decided  once  again  during  such  a  walk  in  the 
garden. 

No  one  had  anything  to  say  against  Amalia's 

[   34   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

suggestion,  and  they  all  went  out  of  doors.  Mar- 
colina,  who  led  the  way,  ran  across  the  sunlit 
greensward  to  join  the  children  in  their  game  of 
battledore  and  shuttlecock.  She  was  hardly 
taller  than  the  eldest  of  the  three  girls ;  and  when 
her  hair  came  loose  in  the  exercise  and  floated 
over  her  shoulders  she  too  looked  like  a  child. 
Olivo  and  the  Abbate  seated  themselves  on  a  stone 
bench  beneath  the  trees,  not  far  from  the  house. 
Amalia  sauntered  on  with  Casanova.  As  soon 
as  the  two  were  out  of  hearing,  she  began  to  con- 
verse with  Casanova  in  a  tone  which  seemed  to 
ignore  the  lapse  of  years. 

"So  we  meet  again,  Casanova!  How  I  have 
longed  for  this  day.     I  never  doubted  its  coming." 

"A  mere  chance  has  brought  me,"  said  Casa- 
nova coldly. 

Amalia  smiled.  "Have  it  your  own  way,"  she 
said.  "Anyhow,  you  are  here!  All  these  sixteen 
years  I  have  done  nothing  but  dream  of  this  day!" 

"I  can't  help  thinking,"  countered  Casanova, 
"that  throughout  the  long  interval  you  must  have 
dreamed  of  many  other  things  —  and  must  have 
done  more  than  dream." 

Amalia  shook  her  head.  "You  know  better, 
Casanova.     Nor  had  you  forgotten  me,  for  were 

[   35   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

it  othein\ise,  in  your  eagerness  to  get  to  Venice, 
you  would  never  have  accepted  Olivo's  invitation." 

"A^Hiat  do  you  mean,  Anialia?  Can  you 
imagine  I  have  come  here  to  betray  your  hus- 
band?" 

"How  can  you  use  such  a  phrase,  Casanova? 
Were  I  to  be  yours  once  again,  there  would  be 
neither  betrayal  nor  sin." 

Casanova  laughed.  "No  sin?  Wherefore  not? 
Because  I'm  an  old  man?" 

"You  are  not  old.  For  me  you  can  never  be 
an  old  man.  In  your  arms  I  had  my  first  taste  of 
bliss,  and  I  doubt  not  it  is  my  destiny  that  my  last 
bliss  shall  be  shared  with  you !" 

"Your  last?"  rejoined  Casanova  cjnically, 
though  he  was  not  altogether  unmoved.  "I  think 
my  friend  Olivo  would  have  a  word  to  say  about 
that." 

"What  you  speak  of,"  said  Amalia  reddening, 
"is  duty,  and  even  pleasure;  but  it  is  not  and 
never  has  been  bliss." 

They  did  not  walk  to  the  end  of  the  grass  alley. 
Both  seemed  to  shun  the  neighborhood  of  the 
greensward,  where  Marcolina  and  the  children 
were  playing.  As  if  by  common  consent  they 
retraced  their  steps,  and,  silent  now,  approached 

[   36   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

the  house  again.  One  of  the  ground-floor  win- 
dows at  the  gable  end  of  the  house  was  open. 
Through  this  Casanova  glimpsed  in  the  dark  in- 
terior a  half-dra^\^l  eurtain,  from  behind  which 
the  foot  of  a  bed  projected.  Over  an  adjoining 
chair  was  hanging  a  light,  gauzy  dress. 

"Is  that  Marcolina's  room?"  enquired  Casa- 
nova. 

Amalia  nodded.  "Do  you  like  her?"  she  said  — 
nonchalantly,  as  it  seemed  to  Casanova. 

"Of  course,  since  she  is  good  looking." 

"She's  a  good  girl  as  well." 

Casanova  shrugged,  as  if  the  goodness  were  no 
concern  of  his.  Then:  "Tell  me,  Amalia,  did 
you  think  me  still  handsome  when  you  first  saw 
me  to-day?" 

"I  do  not  know  if  your  looks  have  changed.  To 
me  you  seem  just  the  same  as  of  old.  You  are  as 
I  have  always  seen  you,  as  I  have  seen  you  in  my 
dreams." 

"Look  well,  Amalia.  See  the  wrinkles  on  my 
forehead ;  the  loose  folds  of  my  neck ;  the  crow's- 
feet  round  my  eyes.  And  look,"  he  grimied,  "I 
have  lost  one  of  my  eye  teeth.  Look  at  these 
hands,  too,  Amalia.  My  fingers  are  like  claws; 
there  are  yellow  spots  on  the  finger-nails ;  the  blue 

[   37   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

veins  stand  out.  They  are  the  hands  of  an  old 
man." 

She  clasped  both  his  hands  as  he  held  them  out 
for  her  to  see,  and  affectionately  kissed  them  one 
after  the  other  in  the  shaded  walk.  "To-night,  I 
will  kiss  you  on  the  lips,"  she  said,  with  a  mingling 
of  humility  and  tenderness,  which  roused  his  gall. 

Close  bj^  where  the  alley  opened  on  to  the 
greensward,  INIarcolina  was  stretched  on  the  grass, 
her  hands  clasped  beneath  her  head,  looking  sky- 
ward while  the  shuttlecocks  flew  to  and  fro.  Sud- 
denly reaching  upwards,  she  seized  one  of  them 
in  mid  air,  and  laughed  triumphantly.  The  girls 
flung  themselves  upon  her  as  she  lay  defenceless. 

Casanova  thrilled.  "Neither  my  lips  nor  my 
hands  are  yours  to  kiss.  Your  waiting  for  me 
and  your  dreams  of  me  will  prove  to  have  been 
vain  —  unless  I  should  first  make  Marcolina 
mine." 

"Are  you  mad,  Casanova?"  exclaimed  Amalia, 
with  distress  in  her  voice. 

"If  I  am,  we  are  both  on  the  same  footing," 
replied  Casanova.  "You  are  mad  because  in  me, 
an  old  man,  you  think  that  you  can  rediscover  the 
beloved  of  your  youth ;  I  am  mad  because  I  have 
taken  it  into  my  head  that  I  wish  to  possess  Mar- 

[   38    ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

colina.  But  perhaps  we  shall  both  be  restored  to 
reason.  Marcolina  shall  restore  me  to  youth  — 
for  you.     So  help  me  to  my  wishes,  Amalia!" 

"You  are  really  beside  yourself,  Casanova. 
What  you  ask  is  impossible.  She  will  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  any  man." 

Casanova  laughed.  "What  about  Lieutenant 
Lorenzi?" 

"Lorenzi?     What  do  you  mean?" 
"He  is  her  lover.     I  am  sure  of  it." 
"You  are  utterly  mistaken.     He  asked  for  her 
hand,  and  she  rejected  his  proposal.      Yet  he  is 
young  and  handsome.     I  almost  think  him  hand- 
somer than  you  ever  were,  Casanova!" 
"He  was  a  suitor  for  her  hand?" 
"Ask  Olivo  if  you  don't  believe  me." 
"Well,  what  do  I  care  about  that?     What  care 
I  whether  she  be  virgin  or  strumpet,   wife  or 
widow  —  I  want  to  make  her  mine!" 

"I  can't  give  her  to  you,  my  friend !"  Amalia's 
voice  expressed  genuine  concern. 

"You  see  for  yourself,"  he  said,  "what  a  pitiful 
creature  I  have  become.  Ten  years  ago,  five 
years  ago,  I  should  have  needed  neither  helper 
nor  advocate,  even  though  Marcolina  had  been  the 
very  goddess  of  virtue.     And  now  I  am  trying  to 

[  39   ] 


CASANOA^A    S      HOMECOMING 

make  you  ^\ay  the  procuress.  If  I  were  only  a 
rich  man.  Had  I  but  ten  thousand  ducats.  But 
I  have  not  even  ten.     I  am  a  beggar,  Amalia." 

"Had  you  a  hundred  thousand,  you  could  not 
buy  INIarcolina.  What  does  she  care  about 
money?  She  loves  books,  the  sky,  the  meadows, 
butterflies,  playing  with  children.  She  has  in- 
herited a  small  competence  which  more  than  suf- 
fices for  her  needs." 

"Were  I  but  a  sovereign  prince,"  cried  Casa- 
nova, somewhat  theatrically,  as  was  his  wont  when 
strongly  moved.  "Had  I  but  the  power  to  com- 
mit men  to  prison,  to  send  them  to  the  scaffold. 
But  I  am  nothing.  A  beggar,  and  a  liar  into  the 
bargain.  I  importune  the  Supreme  Council  for 
a  post,  a  crust  of  bread,  a  home!  AVliat  a  poor 
thing  have  I  become!  Are  you  not  sickened  by 
me,  Amalia?" 

"I  love  you,  Casanova!" 

"Then  give  her  to  me,  Amalia.  It  rests  with 
you,  I  am  confident.  Tell  her  what  you  please. 
Say  I  have  threatened  you.  Say  you  think  I  am 
capable  of  setting  fire  to  the  house.  Say  I  am  a 
fool,  a  dangerous  lunatic  escaped  from  an  asylum, 
but  that  the  embraces  of  a  virgin  will  restore  me 
to  sanity.     Yes,  tell  her  that." 

[   40   ] 


Casanova's     homecoming 

"She  does  not  believe  in  miracles." 
"Does  not  believe  in  miracles?  Then  she  does 
not  believe  in  God  either.  So  much  the  better! 
I  have  influence  with  the  Archbishop  of  Milan. 
Tell  her  so.  I  can  ruin  her.  I  can  destroy  you 
all.  It  is  true,  Amalia.  What  books  does  she 
read?  Doubtless  some  of  them  are  on  the  Index. 
Let  me  see  them.  I  will  compile  a  list.  A  hint 
from  me  .   .  .   ." 

"Not  a  word  more,  Casanova !  Here  she  comes. 
Keep  yourself  well  in  hand;  do  not  let  your  eyes 
betray  you.  Listen,  Casanova;  I  have  never 
known  a  purer-minded  girl.  Did  she  suspect 
what  I  have  heard  from  you,  she  would  feel  her- 
self soiled,  and  for  the  rest  of  your  stay  she  would 
not  so  much  as  look  at  you.  Talk  to  her;  talk  to 
her.     You  will  soon  ask  her  pardon  and  mine." 

Marcolina  came  up  with  the  girls,  who  ran  on 
into  the  house.  She  paused,  as  if  out  of  courtesy 
to  the  guest,  standing  before  him,  while  Amalia 
deliberately  withdrew.  Indeed,  it  actually 
seemed  to  Casanova  that  from  those  pale,  half- 
parted  lips,  from  the  smooth  brow  crowned  with 
light-brown  hair  now  restored  to  order,  there 
emanated  an  aroma  of  aloofness  and  purity. 
Rarely  had  he  had  this  feeling  with  regard  to  any 

[   41    ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

woman ;  nor  had  he  had  it  in  the  case  of  Marco- 
lina  when  they  were  within  four  walls.  A  devo- 
tional mood,  a  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  laiowing 
nothing  of  desire,  seemed  to  take  possession  of  his 
soul.  Discreetly,  in  a  respectful  tone  such  as  at 
that  day  was  customary  towards  persons  of  rank, 
in  a  manner  which  she  could  not  but  regard  as 
flattering,  he  enquired  whether  it  was  her  purpose 
to  resume  her  studies  that  evening.  She  answered 
that  in  the  country  her  work  was  somewhat  irregu- 
lar. Nevertheless,  even  during  free  hours,  mathe- 
matical problems  upon  which  she  had  recently 
been  pondering,  would  at  times  invade  her  mind 
unawares.  This  had  just  happened  while  she  was 
lying  on  the  greensward  gazing  up  into  the  sky. 

Casanova,  emboldened  by  the  friendliness  of 
her  demeanor,  asked  jestingly  what  was  the  na- 
ture of  this  lofty,  urgent  problem.  She  replied, 
in  much  the  same  tone,  that  it  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  the  Cabala,  with  which,  so  rumor 
ran,  the  Chevalier  de  Seingalt  worked  wonders. 
He  would  therefore  not  know  what  to  make  of  her 
problem. 

Casanova  was  piqued  that  she  should  speak  of 
the  Cabala  with  such  unconcealed  contempt.  In 
his  rare  hours  of  heart-searching  he  was  well  aware 

[  42  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

that  the  mystical  system  of  nmiibers  which  passed 
by  that  name  had  neither  sense  nor  purpose.  He 
knew  it  had  no  correspondence  with  any  natural 
reality;  that  it  was  no  more  than  an  instrument 
whereby  cheats  and  jesters  —  Casanova  assumed 
these  roles  by  turn,  and  was  a  master  player  in 
both  capacities  —  could  lead  credulous  fools  by 
the  nose.  Nevertheless,  in  defiance  of  his  own 
better  judgment,  he  now  undertook  to  defend  the 
Cabala  as  a  serious  and  perfectly  valid  science. 
He  spoke  of  the  divine  nature  of  the  number 
seven,  to  which  there  are  so  many  references  in 
Holy  Writ ;  of  the  deep  prophetic  significance  of 
pyramids  of  figures,  for  the  construction  of  which 
he  had  himself  invented  a  new  system ;  and  of  the 
frequent  fulfilment  of  the  forecasts  he  had  based 
upon  this  system.  In  Amsterdam,  a  few  years 
ago,  through  the  use  of  arithmancy,  he  had  in- 
duced Hoj)e  the  banker  to  take  over  the  insurance 
of  a  ship  which  was  already  reported  lost,  whereby 
the  banker  had  made  two  hundred  thousand  gold 
guilders.  He  held  forth  so  eloquently  in  defence 
of  his  preposterous  theories  that,  as  often  hap- 
pened, he  began  to  believe  all  the  nonsense  he  was 
talking.  At  length  he  went  so  far  as  to  maintain 
that  the  Cabala  was  not  so  much  a  branch  of 

[   43    ] 


CASANOVA    S       HOMECOMING 

mathematics  as  the  metaphysical  perfectionment 
of  mathematics. 

At  this  point,  INIarcolina,  who  had  been  listen- 
ing attentively  and  with  apparent  seriousness, 
suddenly  assumed  a  half -commiserating,  half- 
mischievous  expression,  ancj  said: 

"You  are  trying,  Signor  Casanova"  —  she 
seemed  deliberately  to  avoid  addressing  him  as 
Chevalier  —  "to  give  me  an  elaborate  proof  of 
your  renowned  talent  as  entertainer,  and  I  am 
extremely  grateful  to  you.  But  of  course  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  the  Cabala  has  not 
merely  nothing  to  do  with  mathematics,  but  is  in 
conflict  with  the  very  essence  of  mathematics. 
The  Cabala  bears  to  mathematics  the  same  sort  of 
relationship  that  the  confused  or  fallacious  chatter 
of  the  Sophists  bore  to  the  serene,  lofty  doctrines 
of  Plato  and  of  Aristotle." 

"Nevertheless,  beautiful  and  learned  Marco- 
lina,  you  will  admit,"  answered  Casanova 
promptly,  "that  even  the  Sophists  were  far  from 
being  such  contemptible,  foolish  apprentices  as 
your  harsh  criticism  would  imply.  Let  me  give 
you  a  contemporary  example.  M.  Voltaire's 
whole  technique  of  thought  and  writing  entitles 
us  to  describe  him  as  an  Arch-Sophist.      Yet  no 

[   44   ] 


Casanova's     homecoming 

one  will  refuse  the  due  meed  of  honor  to  his  ex- 
traordinary talent.  I  would  not  myself  refuse  it, 
though  I  am  at  this  moment  engaged  in  compos- 
ing a  polemic  against  him.  Let  me  add  that  I 
am  not  allowing  myself  to  be  influenced  in  his 
favor  by  recollection  of  the  extreme  civility  he 
was  good  enough  to  show  me  when  I  visited  him 
at  Ferney  ten  years  ago." 

"It  is  really  most  considerate  of  you  to  be  so 
lenient  in  your  criticism  of  the  greatest  mind  of 
the  century!"  Marcolina  smilingly  retorted. 

"A  great  mind  —  the  greatest  of  the  century!" 
exclaimed  Casanova.  "To  give  him  such  a  desig- 
nation seems  to  me  inadmissible,  were  it  only  be- 
cause, for  all  his  genius,  he  is  an  ungodly  man  — 
nay  positively  an  atheist.  No  atheist  can  be  a 
man  of  great  mind." 

"As  I  see  the  matter,  there  is  no  such  incom- 
patibility. But  the  first  thing  you  have  to  prove 
is  your  title  to  describe  Voltaire  as  an  atheist." 

Casanova  was  now  in  his  element.  In  the  open- 
ing chapter  of  his  polemic  he  had  cited  from  Vol- 
taire's works,  especially  from  the  famous  Puceile, 
a  number  of  passages  that  seemed  peculiarly  well- 
fitted  to  justify  the  charge  of  atheism.  Thanks 
to  his  unfailing  memory,  he  was  able  to  repeat 

[   45   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

these  citations  verbatim,  and  to  marshal  his  own 
counter-arguments.  But  in  Marcolina  he  had  to 
cope  with  an  opponent  who  was  little  inferior  to 
himself  in  extent  of  knowledge  and  mental  acu- 
men; and  who,  moreover,  excelled  him,  not  per- 
haps in  fluency  of  speech,  but  at  any  rate  in 
artistry  of  presentation  and  clarity  of  expression. 
The  passages  Casanova  had  selected  as  demon- 
strating Voltaire's  spirit  of  mockery,  his  scepti- 
cism, and  his  atheism,  were  adroitly  interpreted 
by  Marcolina  as  testifying  to  the  Frenchman's 
scientific  genius,  to  his  skill  as  an  author,  and  to 
his  indefatigable  ardor  in  the  search  for  truth. 
She  boldly  contended  that  doubt,  mockery,  nay 
unbelief  itself,  if  associated  with  such  a  wealth  of 
knowledge,  such  absolute  honesty,  and  such  high 
courage,  must  be  more  pleasing  to  God  than  the 
humility  of  the  pious,  which  was  apt  to  be  a  mask 
for  lack  of  capacity  to  think  logically,  and  often 
enough  —  there  were  plenty  of  examples  —  a 
mask  for  cowardice  and  hypocrisy. 

Casanova  listened  with  growing  astonishment. 
He  felt  quite  incompetent  to  convert  Marcolina 
to  his  own  way  of  thinking;  all  the  more  as  he 
increasingly  realized  that  her  counterstrokes  were 
threatening  to  demolish  the  tottering  intellectual 

[   46   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

edifice  which,  of  late  years,  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  mistake  for  faith.      He  took  refuge  in 
the  trite  assertion  that  such  views  as  Marcolina's 
were  a  menace,  not  only  to  the  ecclesiastical  order- 
ing of  society,  but  to  the  very  foundations  of 
social  life.      This  enabled  him  to  make  a  clever 
change  of  front,  to  pass  into  the  field  of  politics, 
where  he  hoped  that  his  wide  experience  and  his 
knowledge  of  the  world  would  render  it  possible 
for  him  to  get  the  better  of  his  adversary.      But 
although  she  lacked  acquaintance  with  the  notable 
personalities  of  the  age;  although  she  was  without 
inside  knowledge  of  courtly  and  diplomatic  in- 
trigues ;   although,  therefore,  she  had  to  renounce 
any  attempt  to  answer  Casanova  in  detail,  even 
when  she  felt  there  was  good  reason  to  distrust 
the  accuracy  of  his  assertions  —  nevertheless,  it 
was  clear  to  him  from  the  tenor  of  her  remarks, 
that  she  had  little  respect  for  the  princes  of  the 
earth  or  for  the  institutions  of  state;    and  she 
made  no  secret  of  her  conviction  that,  alike  in 
small  things  and  in  great,  the  world  was  not  so 
much  a  world  ruled  by  selfishness  and  lust  for 
power,  as  a  world  in  a  condition  of  hopeless  con- 
fusion.     Rarely  had  Casanova  encountered  such 
freedom  of  thought  in  women ;  never  had  he  met 

[  47  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

with  anything  of  the  kind  m  a  girl  who  was  cer- 
tainly not  yet  twenty  years  old.  It  was  painful 
to  him  to  remember  that  in  earlier  and  better  days 
his  own  mind  had  with  deliberate,  self-complacent 
boldness  moved  along  the  paths  whereon  JMarco- 
Ima  was  now  advancing  —  although  in  her  case 
there  did  not  seem  to  exist  any  consciousness  of 
exceptional  courage.  Fascinated  by  the  unique- 
ness of  her  methods  of  thought  and  expression,  he 
almost  forgot  that  he  was  walking  beside  a  young, 
beautiful,  desirable  woman,  a  forgetfulness  all  the 
more  remarkable  as  the  two  were  alone  in  the 
leafy  alley,  and  at  a  considerable  distance  from 
the  house. 

Suddenly,  breaking  off  in  the  middle  of  a  sen- 
tence, Marcolina  joyfully  exclaimed,  "Here 
comes  my  uncle!" 

Casanova,  as  if  he  had  to  rectify  an  omission, 
whisj)ered  in  her  ear:  "What  a  nuisance.  I 
should  have  liked  to  go  on  talking  to  you  for 
hours,  Marcolina."  He  was  aware  that  his  eyes 
were  again  lighting  up  with  desire. 

At  this  Marcolina,  who  in  the  spirited  exchange 
of  their  recent  conversation  had  almost  abandoned 
her  defensive  attitude,  displayed  a  renewed  re- 
serve.    Her  expression  manifested  the  same  pro- 

[   48    ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

test,  the  same  repulsion,  which  had  wounded 
Casanova  earlier  in  the  day. 

"Am  I  really  so  repulsive?"  he  anxiously  asked 
himself.  Then,  replying  in  thought  to  his  own 
question:  "No,  that  is  not  the  reason.  Marcolina 
is  not  really  a  woman.  She  is  a  she-professor,  a 
she-philosopher,  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world 
perhajis  —  but  not  a  woman," 

Yet  even  as  he  mused,  he  knew  he  was  merely 
attempting  to  deceive  himself,  console  himself, 
save  himself;   and  all  his  endeavors  were  vain. 

Olivo,  who  had  now  come  up,  addressed  Marco- 
lina. "Have  I  not  done  well  to  invite  some  one 
here  with  whom  you  can  converse  as  learnedly  as 
with  your  professors  at  Bologna?" 

"Indeed,  Uncle,"  answered  Marcolina,  "there 
was  not  one  of  them  who  would  have  ventured  to 
challenge  Voltaire  to  a  duel !" 

"What,  Voltaire?  The  Chevalier  has  called 
him  out?"  cried  Olivo,  misunderstanding  the 
jest. 

"Your  witty  niece,  Olivo,  refers  to  the  polemic 
on  which  I  have  been  at  work  for  the  last  few 
days,  the  pastime  of  leisure  hours.  I  used  to  have 
weightier  occupations." 

Marcolina,  ignoring  this  remark,  said:    "You 

[  49   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

will  find  it  pleasantly  cool  now  for  your  walk. 
Goodbye  for  the  present."  She  nodded  a  fare- 
well, and  moved  briskly  across  the  greensward  to 
the  house. 

Casanova,  repressing  an  impulse  to  follow  her 
with  his  eyes,  enquired:  "Is  Sigiiora  Amalia  com- 
ing with  us?" 

"No,  Chevalier,"  answered  Olivo.  "She  has  a 
number  of  things  to  attend  to  in  the  house;  and 
besides,  this  is  the  girls'  lesson  time." 

"What  an  excellent  housewife  and  mother! 
You're  a  lucky  fellow,  Olivo!" 

"I  tell  myself  the  same  thing  every  day,"  re- 
sponded Olivo,  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

They  passed  by  the  gable  end  of  the  house. 
Marcolina's  window  was  still  open;  the  pale, 
diaphanous  gown  showed  up  against  the  dark 
background  of  the  room.  Along  the  wide  chest- 
nut avenue  they  made  their  way  on  to  the  road, 
now  completely  in  the  shade.  Leisurely,  they 
walked  up  the  slope  skirting  the  garden  wall. 
"WHiere  it  ended,  the  vineyard  began.  Between 
tall  poles,  from  which  purple  clusters  hung,  Olivo 
led  his  guest  to  the  summit.  With  a  complacent 
air  of  ownership,  he  waved  towards  the  house, 
lying  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.     Casanova  fancied  he 

[  50  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

could  detect  a  female  figure  flitting  to  and  fro  in 
the  turret  chamber. 

The  sun  was  near  to  setting,  but  the  heat  was 
still  consideralble.  Beads  of  perspiration  coursed 
down  Olivo's  cheeks,  but  Casanova's  brow 
showed  no  trace  of  moisture.  Strolling  down  the 
farther  slope,  they  reached  an  olive  grove.  From 
tree  to  tree  vines  were  trained  trellis-wise,  while 
between  the  rows  of  olive  trees  golden  ears  of  corn 
swayed  in  the  breeze. 

"In  a  thousand  ways,"  said  Casanova  appre- 
ciatively, "the  sun  brings  increase." 

With  even  greater  wealth  of  detail  than  before, 
Olivo  recounted  how  he  had  acquired  this  fine 
estate,  and  how  two  great  vintage  years  and  two 
good  harvests  had  made  him  a  well-to-do,  in  fact 
a  wealthy,  man. 

Casanova  pursued  the  train  of  his  own  thoughts, 
attending  to  Olivo's  narrative  only  in  so  far  as 
was  requisite  to  enable  him  from  time  to  time  to 
interpose  a  polite  question  or  to  make  an  appro- 
priate comment.  Nothing  claimed  his  interest 
until  Olivo,  after  talking  of  all  and  sundry,  came 
back  to  the  topic  of  his  family,  and  at  length  to 
Marcolina.  But  Casanova  learned  little  that  was 
new.     She  had  lost  her  mother  early.    Her  father, 

[   61    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Olive's  half-brother,  had  been  a  physician  in 
Bologna.  INIarcolina,  while  still  a  child,  had 
astonished  everyone  by  her  precocious  intelli- 
gence ;  but  the  marvel  was  soon  staled  by  custom. 
A  few  years  later,  her  father  died.  Since  then 
she  had  been  an  inmate  in  the  household  of  a  dis- 
tinguished professor  at  the  university  of  Bologna, 
Morgagni  to  wit,  who  hoped  that  his  pupil  would 
become  a  woman  of  great  learning.  She  always 
spent  the  smnmer  with  her  uncle.  There  had 
been  several  proposals  for  her  hand ;  one  from  a 
Bolognese  merchant;  one  from  a  neighboring 
landowner ;  and  lastly  the  proposal  of  Lieutenant 
Lorenzi.  She  had  refused  them  all,  and  it  seemed 
to  be  her  design  to  devote  her  whole  life  to  the 
service  of  laiowledge.  As  Olivo  rambled  on  mth 
his  story,  Casanova's  desires  grew  beyond  meas- 
ure, while  the  recognition  that  these  desires  were 
utterly  foolish  and  futile  reduced  him  almost  to 
despair. 


[   62   1 


CHAPTER   THREE. 

CASANOVA  and  Olivo  regained  the  high- 
road. In  a  cloud  of  dust,  a  carriage 
drove  up,  and  as  they  drew  near  the  occu- 
pants shouted  greetings.  The  newcomers  were 
an  elderly  gentleman  in  elegant  attire  and  a  lady 
who  was  somewhat  younger,  of  generous  propor- 
tions, and  conspicuously  rouged. 

"The  Marchese,"  whispered  Olivo  to  his  com- 
panion. 

The  carriage  halted. 

"Good  evening,  my  dear  Olivo,"  said  the 
Marchese.  "Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  introduce 
me  to  the  Chevalier  de  Seingalt?  I  have  no  doubt 
that  it  is  the  Chevalier  whom  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing." 

Casanova  bowed,  saying:  "Yes,  I  am  he." 

"I  am  the  Marchese  Celsi.  Let  me  present  the 
Marchesa,  my  spouse."  The  lady  offered  her 
finger  tips.     Casanova  touched  them  with  his  lips. 

The  Marchese  was  two  or  three  inches  taller 
than  Casanova,  and  unnaturally  lean.     He  had 

[    53    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

a  narrow  face,  of  a  yellow,  waxy  tint;  his 
greenish  ej^es  were  piercing;  his  thick  eye- 
brows were  of  reddish  color,  and  met  across 
the  root  of  the  nose.  These  characteristics 
gave  him  a  somewhat  formidable  aspect.  "My 
good  Olivo,"  he  said,  "we  are  all  going  to  the 
same  destination.  Since  it  is  little  more  than 
half  a  mile  to  your  house,  I  shall  get  out  and  walk 
with  you.  You  won't  mind  driving  the  rest  of 
the  way  alone,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  Mar- 
chesa,  who  had  meanwhile  been  gazing  at  Casa- 
nova with  searching,  passionate  eyes.  Without 
awaiting  his  wife's  answer,  the  INIarchese  nodded 
to  the  coachman,  who  promptly  lashed  the  horses 
furiously,  as  if  he  had  some  reason  for  driving  his 
mistress  away  at  top  speed.  In  an  instant  the 
carriage  vanished  in  a  whirl  of  dust. 

"The  whole  neighborhood,"  said  the  Marchese, 
"is  already  aware  that  the  Chevalier  de  Seingalt 
has  come  to  spend  a  few  days  with  his  friend 
Olivo.  It  must  be  glorious  to  bear  so  reno^vned 
a  name." 

"You  flatter  me,  Signor  Marchese,"  replied 
Casanova.  "I  have  not  yet  abandoned  the  hope 
of  winning  such  a  name,  but  I  am  still  far  from 
having  done  so.     It  may  be  that  a  work  on  which 

[   54   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

I  am  now  engaged  will  bring  me  nearer  to  the 
goal." 

"We  can  take  a  short  cut  here,"  said  Olivo, 
turning  into  a  path  which  led  straight  to  the  wall 
of  his  garden. 

"Work?"  echoed  the  Marchese  with  a  doubtful 
air.  "May  I  enquire  to  what  work  you  refer, 
Chevalier?" 

"If  you  ask  me  that  question,  Signor  Marchese, 
I  shall  in  my  turn  feel  impelled  to  enquire  what 
you  meant  just  now  when  you  referred  to  my 
renoAvn." 

Arrogantly  he  faced  the  Marchese's  piercing 
eyes.  He  knew  perfectly  well  that  neither  his 
romance  Icosameron  nor  yet  his  Confutazione 
delta  storia  del  governo  veneto  d'Amelot  de  la 
Houssaie  had  brought  him  any  notable  reputation 
as  an  author.  Nevertheless  it  was  his  pose  to  im- 
ply that  for  him  no  other  sort  of  reputation  was 
desirable.  He  therefore  deliberately  misunder- 
stood the  Marchese's  tentative  observations  and 
cautious  allusions,  which  implied  that  Casanova 
was  a  celebrated  seducer,  gamester,  man  of  af- 
fairs, political  emissary,  or  what  not.  Celsi  made 
no  reference  to  authorship,  for  he  had  never  heard 
of  either  the  Refutation  of  Amelot  or  the  Ico- 

[   55   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

sameron.  At  length,  therefore,  in  polite  embar- 
rassment, he  said:  "After  all,  there  is  only  one 
Casanova." 

"There,  likewise,  you  are  mistaken,  Signor 
Marchese,"  said  Casanova  coldly.  "I  have  rela- 
tives, and  a  connoisseur  like  yourself  must  surely 
be  acquainted  with  the  name  of  one  of  my  broth- 
ers, Francesco  Casanova,  the  painter." 

It  seemed  that  the  INIarchese  had  no  claim  to 
connoisseurship  in  this  field  either,  and  he  turned 
the  conversation  to  acquaintances  living  in 
Naples,  Rome,  INIilan,  or  Mantua,  persons  whom 
Casanova  was  not  unlikely  to  have  met.  In  this 
connection  he  also  mentioned  the  name  of  Baron 
Perotti,  but  somewhat  contemptuously. 

Casanova  was  constrained  to  admit  that  he 
often  played  cards  at  the  Baron's  house.  "For 
distraction,"  he  explained;  "for  half  an  hour's 
relaxation  before  bedtime.  In  general,  I  have 
given  up  this  way  of  wasting  my  time." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  the  jNIarchese,  "for  I  must 
own  it  has  been  one  of  the  dreams  of  my  life  to 
cross  swords  with  you.  Not  only,  indeed,  at  the 
card  table;  for  when  I  was  younger  I  would 
gladly  have  been  your  rival  in  other  fields.  Would 
you  believe  it  —  I  forget  how  long  ago  it  was  — • 

[   56   ] 


Casanova's     homecoming 

I  once  entered  Spa  on  the  very  day,  at  the  very 
hour,  when  you  left  the  place.  Our  carriages 
must  have  passed  one  another  on  the  road.  In 
Ratisbon,  too,  I  had  the  same  piece  of  ill  luck. 
There  I  actually  occupied  the  room  of  which  your 
tenancy  had  just  expired." 

"It  is  indeed  unfortunate,"  said  Casanova,  flat- 
tered in  spite  of  himself,  "that  people's  paths  so 
often  cross  too  late  in  life." 

"Not  yet  too  late!"  exclaimed  the  Marchese. 
"There  are  certain  respects  in  which  I  shall  not 
be  loath  to  avow  myself  vanquished  before  the 
fight  begins.  But  as  regards  games  of  chance, 
my  dear  Chevalier,  we  are  perhaps  both  of  us  pre- 
cisely at  the  age " 

Casanova  cut  him  short.  "At  the  age  —  very 
likely.  Unfortunately,  however,  I  can  no  longer 
look  forward  to  the  pleasure  of  measuring  myself 
at  the  card  table  with  a  partner  of  your  rank. 
The  reason  is  simple."  He  spoke  in  the  tone  of 
a  dethroned  sovereign.  "Despite  my  renoAMi,  my 
dear  Marchese,  I  am  now  practically  reduced  to 
the  condition  of  a  beggar." 

The  Marchese  involuntarily  lowered  his  eyes 
before  Casanova's  haughty  gaze.  He  shook  his 
head  incredulously,  as  if  he  had  been  listening  to 

[   57   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

a  strange  jest.  Olive,  who  had  followed  the  con- 
versation with  the  keenest  attention,  and  had  ac- 
companied the  skilful  parries  of  his  marvellous 
friend  with  approving  nods,  could  hardly  repress 
a  gesture  of  alarm.  They  had  just  reached  a 
narrow  wooden  door  in  the  garden  wall.  Olivo 
produced  a  key,  and  turned  the  creaking  lock. 
Giving  the  Marchese  precedence  into  the  garden, 
he  arrested  Casanova  by  the  arm,  whispering: 

"You  must  take  back  those  last  words.  Cheva- 
lier, before  you  set  foot  in  my  house  again.  The 
money  I  have  been  owing  you  these  sixteen  years 
awaits  you.  I  was  only  afraid  to  speak  of  it. 
Amalia  will  tell  you.  It  is  counted  out  and  ready. 
I  had  proposed  to  hand  it  over  to  you  on  your 
departure " 

Casanova  gently  interrupted  him.  "You  owe 
me  nothing,  Olivo.  You  know  perfectly  well 
that  those  paltry  gold  pieces  were  a  wedding  pres- 
ent from  the  friend  of  Amalia's  mother.  Please 
drop  the  subject.  What  are  a  few  ducats  to  me?" 
He  raised  his  voice  as  he  spoke,  so  that  the  Mar- 
chese, who  had  paused  at  a  few  paces'  distance 
could  hear  the  concluding  words.  "I  stand  at  a 
turning-point  in  my  fortunes." 

Olivo  exchanged  glances  with  Casanova,  as  if 

[   58    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

asking  permission,  and  then  explained  to  the 
Marchese:  "You  must  laiow  that  the  Chevalier 
has  been  summoned  to  Venice,  and  will  set  out  for 
home  in  a  few  days." 

"I  would  rather  put  it,"  remarked  Casanova  as 
they  apxDroached  the  house,  "that  summonses, 
growing  ever  more  urgent,  have  been  reaching  me 
for  a  considerable  while.  But  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  senators  took  long  enough  to  make  up  their 
minds,  and  may  in  their  turn  practise  the  virtue 
of  patience." 

"Unquestionably,"  said  the  Marchese,  "you  are 
entitled  to  stand  upon  your  dignity.  Chevalier." 

They  emerged  from  the  avenue  on  to  the  green- 
sward, across  which  the  shadow  of  the  house  had 
now  lengthened.  Close  to  the  dwelling,  the  rest 
of  the  little  company  was  awaiting  them.  All 
rose  and  came  to  meet  them.  The  Abbate  led  the 
way,  with  Marcolina  and  Amalia  on  either  side. 
They  were  followed  by  the  Marchesa,  with  whom 
came  a  tall,  young  officer,  clad  in  a  red  uniform 
trimmed  with  silver  lace,  and  wearing  jack-bootsi 
—  evidently  Lorenzi.  As  he  spoke  to  the  Mar- 
chesa, he  scanned  her  powdered  shoulders  as  if 
they  were  well-known  samples  of  other  beauties 
with  which  he  was  equally  familiar.      The  Mar- 

[  69  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOÄIING 

chesa  smiled  up  at  him  beneath  half-closed  lids. 
Even  a  tyro  in  such  matters  could  hardly  fail  to 
realize  the  nature  of  their  relationship,  or  to  per- 
ceive that  thej»^  were  quite  unconcerned  at  its  dis- 
closure. They  were  conversing  in  animated 
fashion,  but  in  low  tones ;  and  they  ceased  talking 
only  when  they  caught  up  wdth  the  others. 

Olivo  introduced  Casanova  and  Lorenz!  to  one 
another.  They  exchanged  glances  A\ith  a  cold 
aloofness  that  seemed  to  offer  mutual  assurances 
of  dislike;  then,  with  a  forced  smile,  both  bowed 
stiffly  without  offering  to  shake  hands.  Lorenzi 
was  handsome,  with  a  narrow  visage  and  features 
sharply  cut  for  his  age.  At  the  back  of  his  eyes 
something  difficult  to  grasp  seemed  to  lurk,  some- 
thing likely  to  suggest  caution  to  one  of  experi- 
ence. For  a  moment,  Casanova  was  in  doubt  as 
to  who  it  w  as  that  Lorenzi  reminded  him  of.  Then 
he  realized  that  his  own  image  stood  before  him, 
the  image  of  himself  as  he  had  been  thirty  years 
before.  "Have  I  been  reincarnated  in  his  form?" 
Casanova  asked  himself.  "But  I  must  have  died 
before  that  could  hapjDen."  It  flashed  through 
his  mind:  "Have  I  not  been  dead  for  a  long  time? 
What  is  there  left  of  the  Casanova  who  was  young, 
handsome,  and  happy?" 

[  60  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Amalia  broke  in  upon  his  musings.  As  if  from 
a  distance,  though  she  stood  close  at  hand,  she 
asked  him  how  he  had  enjoyed  his  walk.  Raising 
his  voice  so  that  all  could  hear,  he  expressed  his 
admiration  for  the  fertile,  well-managed  estate. 

Meanwhile  upon  the  greensward  the  maidser- 
vant was  laying  the  table  for  supper.  The  two 
elder  girls  were  "helping."  With  much  fuss  and 
giggling,  they  brought  out  of  the  house  the  silver, 
the  wine  glasses,  and  other  requisites. 

Gradually  the  dusk  fell;  a  cool  breeze  stirred 
through  the  garden.  INIarcolina  went  to  the  table, 
to  put  the  finishing  touches  to  the  work  of  the 
maidservant  and  the  girls.  The  others  wandered 
about  the  greensward  and  along  the  alleys.  The 
]Marchesa  was  extremely  polite  to  Casanova.  She 
said  that  the  story  of  his  remarkable  escape  from 
The  Leads  in  Venice  was  not  unknown  to  her, 
but  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  hear  it  from  his  own 
lips.  With  a  meaning  smile  she  added  that  she 
understood  him  to  have  had  far  more  dangerous 
adventures,  which  he  might  perhaps  be  less  in- 
clined to  recount.  Casanova  rejoined  that  he  had 
indeed  had  a  number  of  lively  experiences,  but 
had  never  made  serious  acquaintance  with  that 
mode  of  existence  whose  meaning  and  very  essence 

[  61  ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

were  danger.  Although,  many  years  before, 
durhig  troublous  times,  he  had  for  a  few  months 
been  a  soldier  upon  the  island  of  Corfu  (was 
there  any  profession  on  earth  into  which  the  cur- 
rent of  fate  had  not  drifted  him?),  he  had  never 
had  the  good  fortune  to  go  through  a  real  cam- 
paign, such  as  that  which,  he  understood.  Lieu- 
tenant Lorenzi  was  about  to  experience  —  a  piece 
of  luck  for  which  he  was  inclined  to  envy  the 
Lieutenant. 

"Then  you  know  more  than  I  do,  Signor  Casa- 
nova," said  Lorenzi  in  a  challenging  tone.  "In- 
deed, you  are  better  informed  than  the  Colonel 
himself,  for  he  has  just  given  me  an  indefinite 
extension  of  leave." 

"Is  that  so?"  exclaimed  the  Marchese,  unable 
to  master  his  rage.  He  added  spitefully:  "Do 
you  laiow,  Lorenzi,  we,  or  rather  my  wife,  had 
counted  so  definitely  on  your  leaving,  that  we  had 
invited  one  of  our  friends,  Baldi  the  singer,  to 
stay  with  us  next  week." 

"No  matter,"  rejoined  Lorenzi,  unperturbed. 
"Baldi  and  I  are  the  best  of  friends.  We  shall 
get  on  famously  together.  You  think  so,  don't 
you?"  he  said,  turning  to  the  Marchesa  with  a 
smile. 

[   62   ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

"You'd  better!"  said  the  Marchesa,  laughing 
gaily. 

As  she  spoke  she  seated  herself  at  the  table,  be- 
side Olivo,  with  Lorenzi  on  the  other  hand.  Op- 
posite sat  Amalia,  between  the  Marchese  and 
Casanova.  Next  to  Casanova,  at  one  end  of  the 
long,  narrow  table,  was  Marcolina;  next  to  Olivo, 
at  the  other  end,  sat  the  Abbate.  Supper,  like 
dinner,  was  a  simple  but  tasteful  meal.  The  two 
elder  girls,  Teresina  and  Nanetta,  waited  on  the 
guests,  and  served  the  excellent  wine  grown  on 
Olivo's  hillsides.  Both  the  JMarchese  and  the 
Abbate  paid  their  thanks  to  the  young  waitresses 
with  playful  and  somewhat  equivocal  caresses 
which  a  stricter  parent  than  Olivo  would  probably 
have  discountenanced.  Amalia  seemed  to  be  un- 
aware of  all  this.  She  was  pale,  dejected,  and 
looked  like  a  woman  determined  to  be  old,  since 
her  own  youth  had  ceased  to  interest  her. 

"Is  this  all  that  remains  of  my  empire?"  thought 
Casanova  bitterly,  contemplating  her  in  profile. 
Yet  perhaps  it  was  the  illumination  which  gave  so 
gloomy  a  cast  to  Amalia's  features.  From  the 
interior  of  the  house  a  broad  beam  of  light  fell 
upon  the  guests.  Otherwise  the  glimmer  in  the 
sky  sufficed  them.      The  dark  crests  of  the  trees 

[   63   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

limited  the  outlook;  Casanova  was  reminded  of 
the  eerie  garden  in  which,  late  one  evening  many 
years  before,  he  had  awaited  the  coming  of  his 
mistress. 

"Murano!"  he  whispered  to  himself,  and  trem- 
bled. Then  he  spoke  aloud:  "On  an  island  near 
Venice  there  is  a  convent  garden  where  I  last  set 
foot  several  decades  ago.  At  night,  there,  the 
scent  is  just  like  this." 

"Were  you  ever  a  monk?"  asked  the  Marchesa, 
sportively. 

"All  but,"  replied  Casanova  with  a  smile,  ex- 
plaining, truthfully  enough,  that  ^^'hen  he  was  a 
lad  of  fifteen  he  had  been  given  minor  orders  by 
the  archbishop  of  Venice,  but  that  before  attain- 
ing full  manhood  he  had  decided  to  lay  aside  the 
cassock. 

The  Abbate  mentioned  that  there  was  a  nun- 
nery close  at  hand,  and  strongly  recommended 
Casanova  to  visit  the  place  if  he  had  never  seen  it. 
Olivo  heartily  endorsed  the  recommendation, 
singing  the  praises  of  the  picturesque  old  build- 
ing, the  situation,  and  the  diversified  beauties  of 
the  approach. 

"The  Lady  Abbess,  Sister  Serafina,"  continued 
the  Abbate,  "is  an  extremely  learned  woman,  a 

[   64   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

duchess  by  birth.  She  has  told  me  —  by  letter, 
of  course,  for  the  inmates  are  under  a  vow  of  per- 
petual silence  —  that  she  has  heard  of  Marco- 
lina's  erudition,  and  would  like  to  meet  her  face 
to  face." 

"I  hope,  Marcolina,"  said  Lorenzi,  speaking  to 
her  for  the  first  time,  "that  you  will  not  attempt 
to  imitate  the  noble  abbess  in  other  respects  as 
well  as  learning." 

"Why  should  I?"  rejoined  Marcolina  serenely. 
"We  can  maintain  our  freedom  without  vows. 
Better  without  than  with,  for  a  vow  is  a  form  of 
coercion." 

Casanova  was  sitting  next  to  her.  He  did  not 
dare  to  let  his  foot  touch  hers  lightly,  or  to  press 
his  knee  against  hers.  He  was  certain  that  should 
she  for  the  third  time  look  at  him  with  that  ex- 
pression of  horror  and  loathing,  he  would  be 
driven  to  some  act  of  folly.  As  the  meal  pro- 
gressed, as  the  number  of  emptied  glasses  grew 
and  the  conversation  waxed  livelier  and  more 
general,  Casanova  heard,  once  more  as  from  afar, 
Amalia's  voice. 

"I  have  spoken  to  Marcolina." 

"You  have  spoken  to  her?"  A  mad  hope 
flamed  up  in  him. 

[   65   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOÄIING 

"Calm  yourself,  Casanova.  We  did  not  speak 
of  you,  but  only  of  her  and  her  plans  for  the 
future.  I  say  to  you  again,  she  will  never  give 
herself  to  any  man." 

Olivo,  who  had  been  drinking  freely,  suddenly 
rose,  glass  in  hand,  and  delivered  himself  of  a  few 
stumbling  phrases  concerning  the  great  honor 
conferred  upon  his  humble  home  by  the  visit  of 
his  dear  friend,  the  Chevalier  de  Seingalt. 

"But  where,  my  dear  Olivo,  is  the  Chevalier  de 
Seingalt  of  whom  you  speak?"  enquired  Lorenzi 
in  his  clear,  insolent  voice. 

Casanova's  first  impulse  was  to  throw  the  con- 
tents of  his  glass  in  Lorenzi's  face. 

Amalia  touched  his  arm  lightly,  to  restrain  him, 
and  said:  "Many  people  to-day.  Chevalier,  still 
know  you  best  by  the  old  and  more  widely  re- 
no^\Tied  name  of  Casanova." 

"I  was  not  aware,"  said  Lorenzi,  with  offensive 
gravity,  "that  the  King  of  France  had  ennobled 
Signor  Casanova." 

"I  was  able  to  save  the  King  that  trouble,"  an- 
swered Casanova  quietly.  "I  trust.  Lieutenant 
Lorenzi,  that  you  will  be  satisfied  with  an  ex- 
planation to  which  the  Burgomaster  of  Nurem- 
berg offered  no  objection  when  I  gave  it  to  him 

[   66   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

in  circumstances  with  which  I  need  not  weary  the 
company."  There  was  a  moment  of  silent  ex- 
pectation. Casanova  continued:  "The  alphabet 
is  our  common  heritage.  I  chose  a  collocation  of 
letters  which  pleased  my  taste,  and  ennobled  my- 
self without  being  indebted  to  any  prince,  who 
might  perhaps  have  been  disinclined  to  allow  my 
claim.  I  style  myself  Casanova,  Chevalier  de 
Seingalt.  I  am  indeed  sorry.  Lieutenant  Lorenzi, 
if  this  name  fails  to  meet  with  your  approval." 

"Seingalt!  It  is  a  splendid  name,"  said  the 
Abbate,  repeating  it  several  times,  as  if  he  were 
tasting  it. 

"There  is  not  a  man  in  the  world,"  exclahned 
Olivo,  "who  has  a  better  right  to  name  himself 
Chevalier  than  my  distinguished  friend  Casa- 
nova!" 

"As  for  you,  Lorenzi,"  added  the  Marchese, 
"when  your  reputation  has  reached  as  far  as  that 
of  Signor  Casanova,  Chevalier  de  Seingalt,  we 
shall  be  willing  enough,  should  you  so  desire,  to 
give  you  also  the  title  of  Chevalier." 

Casanova,  somewhat  nettled  at  not  being  al- 
lowed to  fight  his  ovhlI  battle,  was  about  to  resume 
the  defence  in  person,  when  out  of  the  dusk  of 
the    garden    two    elderly    gentlemen,     soberly 

[    67   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

habited,  put  in  an  appearance  beside  the  table. 
Olivo  greeted  them  with  effusive  cordialit}^  being 
delighted  to  turn  the  conversation  and  to  put  an 
end  to  a  dispute  that  threatened  to  destroy  the 
harmony  of  the  evening.  The  newcomers  were 
the  brothers  Ricardi.  As  Casanova  had  learned 
from  Olivo,  they  were  old  bachelors.  At  one 
time  members  of  the  great  world,  they  had  been 
unfortunate  in  various  undertakings.  At  length 
they  had  returned  to  their  birthplace,  the  neigh- 
boring village,  to  lead  a  retired  life  in  a  tiny  house 
they  had  rented.  They  were  eccentric  fellows, 
but  quite  harmless. 

The  Ricardis  expressed  their  delight  at  renew- 
ing their  acquaintance  with  the  Chevalier,  w^hom, 
they  said,  they  had  met  in  Paris  a  good  many 
years  ago. 

Casanova  could  not  recall  the  meeting. 

"Perhaps  it  was  in  Madrid?"  said  the  Ricardis. 

"Älaybe,"  replied  Casanova,  though  he  was  ab- 
solutely certain  that  he  had  never  seen  either  of 
them  before. 

The  younger  of  the  two  was  spokesman.  The 
elder,  who  looked  as  if  he  might  be  ninety  at  least, 
accompanied  his  brother's  words  with  incessant 
nods  and  grimaces. 

[   68    ] 


Casanova's     homecoming 

By  now  every  one  had  left  the  table,  and  before 
this  the  children  had  disappeared.  Lorenz!  and 
the  JMarchesa  were  strolling  in  the  dusk  across  the 
greensward.  Marcolina  and  Amalia  were  in  the 
hall,  setting  out  the  table  for  cards. 

''What  is  the  aim  of  all  this?"  said  Casanova  to 
himself,  as  he  stood  alone  in  the  garden.  "Do 
they  imagine  me  to  be  rich?  Are  they  on  the 
lookout  for  plunder?" 

These  preparations,  the  ingratiating  manners 
of  the  Marchese,  the  sedulous  attentions  of  the 
Abbate,  the  appearance  of  the  brothers  Ricardi 
on  the  scene,  were  arousing  his  sus^^icions.  Was 
it  not  possible  that  Lorenzi  might  be  a  party  to 
the  intrigue?  Or  Marcolina?  Or  even  Amalia? 
For  a  moment  it  flashed  through  his  mind  that  his 
enemies  might  be  at  work  upon  some  scheme  of 
the  eleventh  hour  to  make  his  return  to  Venice 
difficult  or  impossible.  But  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion convinced  him  the  notion  was  absurd  —  were 
it  only  because  he  no  longer  had  any  enemies. 
He  was  merely  an  old  fellow  in  reduced  circum- 
stances. "Who  was  likely  to  take  any  trouble  to 
hinder  his  return  to  Venice?  Glancing  through 
the  open  window,  he  saw  the  company  assembling 
round  the  table,  where  the  cards  lay  ready,  and 

[   69   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

the  filled  wine-glasses  were  standing.  It  seemed 
to  him  clear  beyond  all  possibility  of  doubt  that 
there  was  nothing  afoot  except  an  ordinary,  inno- 
cent game  of  cards,  in  which  the  coming  of  a  new 
player  is  always  an  agreeable  change. 

Marcolina  passed  him,  and  wished  him  good 
luck. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  take  a  hand?"  he  said. 
"At  least  you  will  look  on?" 

"I  have  something  else  to  do.  Good  night, 
Chevalier." 

From  the  interior,  voices  called  out  into  the 
night:  "Lorenzi."  —  "Chevalier."  —  "We  are 
waiting  for  you." 

Casanova,  standing  in  the  darkness,  could  see 
that  the  Marchesa  was  leading  Lorenzi  away  from 
the  open  greensward  into  the  greater  darkness 
under  the  trees.  There  she  would  fain  have 
drawn  him  into  her  arms,  but  Lorenzi  roughly 
tore  himself  away  and  strode  towards  the  house. 
Meeting  Casanova  in  the  entry,  he  gave  him 
precedence  with  mock  politeness.  Casanova  ac- 
cepted the  precedence  without  a  word  of  thanks. 

The  Marchese  was  the  first  banker.  Olivo,  the 
brothers  Ricardi,  and  the  Abbate  staked  such 
trifling  amounts  that  to  Casanova  —  even  to-day 

[   70   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

when  his  whole  worldly  wealth  consisted  of  no 
more  than  a  few  ducats  —  the  game  seemed  ludi- 
crous. All  the  more  was  this  the  case  since  the 
Marchese  raked  in  his  winnings  and  paid  out  his 
losses  with  a  ceremonious  air,  as  if  he  were  hand- 
ling enormous  sums.  Suddenly  Lorenzi,  who 
had  hitherto  taken  no  part  in  the  game,  staked  a 
ducat,  won,  let  the  doubled  stake  stand;  won 
again  and  again,  and  continued  to  have  the  same 
luck  with  but  occasional  interruptions.  The 
other  men,  however,  went  on  staking  petty  coins, 
and  the  two  Ricardis  in  particular  seemed  quite 
annoyed  if  the  Marchese  failed  to  give  them  as 
much  attention  as  he  gave  to  Lieutenant  Lorenzi. 
The  two  brothers  played  together  upon  the  same 
hazard.  Beads  of  perspiration  formed  upon  the 
brow  of  the  elder,  who  handled  the  cards.  The 
younger,  standing  behind  his  brother,  talked  un- 
ceasingly, with  the  air  of  giving  infallible  counsel. 
Wlien  the  silent  brother  won,  the  loquacious 
brother's  eyes  gleamed;  but  at  a  loss,  he  raised 
despairing  eyes  heavenward.  The  Abbate,  im- 
passive for  the  most  part,  occasionally  enunciated 
some  scrap  of  proverbial  wisdom.  For  instance: 
"Luck  and  women  cannot  be  constrained."  Or, 
"The  earth  is  round,  and  heaven  is  far  away."    At 

[   71    ] 


CASANOVA    S      II  O  M  E  C  O  M  I  N  G 

times  he  looked  at  Casanova  with  an  air  of  sly 
encouragement,  his  eyes  moving  on  from  Casa- 
nova to  rest  upon  Amalia  where  she  sat  beside 
her  husband.  It  seemed  as  if  his  chief  concern 
must  be  to  bring  the  erstwhile  lovers  together  once 
again. 

As  for  Casanova,  all  he  could  think  of  was  that 
Marcolina  was  in  her  room,  undressing  in  leisurely 
fashion,  and  that  if  the  window  were  open  her 
white  skin  must  be  gleaming  into  the  night. 
Seized  with  desire  so  intense  as  almost  to  put  him 
beside  himself,  he  moved  to  rise  from  his  place  by 
the  Marchese  and  to  leave  the  room.  The  Mar- 
chese,  however,  interpreting  this  movement  as  a 
resolve  to  take  a  hand  in  the  game,  said : 

"At  last!  We  were  sure  you  would  not  be 
content  to  play  the  part  of  spectator.  Chevalier." 

The  Marchese  dealt  him  a  card.  Casanova 
staked  all  he  had  on  his  person,  about  ten  ducats, 
which  was  nearly  the  whole  of  his  entire  wealth. 
Without  counting  the  amount,  he  emptied  his 
purse  on  the  table,  hoping  to  lose  it  at  a  single 
cast.  That  would  be  a  sign  of  luck.  He  had  not 
troubled  to  think  precisely  what  sort  of  luck  it 
would  signify,  whether  his  speedy  return  to 
Venice,  or  the  desired  sight  of  Marcolina's  nudity. 

[   72   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Ere  he  had  made  up  his  mind  upon  this  point,  the 
Marchese  had  lost  the  venture.  Like  Lorenzi, 
Casanova  let  the  double  stake  lie;  and  just  as  in 
Lorenzi's  case,  fortune  stood  by  him.  The  Mar- 
chese no  longer  troubled  himself  to  deal  to  the 
others.  The  silent  Ricardi  rose  somewhat  morti- 
fied ;  the  other  Ricardi  wrung  his  hands.  Then 
the  two  withdrew,  dumbfounded,  to  a  corner  of 
the  room.  The  Abbate  and  Olivo  took  matters 
more  phlegmatically.  The  former  ate  sweets  and 
repeated  his  proverbial  tags.  The  latter  watched 
the  turn  of  the  cards  with  eager  attention. 

At  length  the  Marchese  had  lost  five  hundred 
ducats  to  Casanova  and  Lorenzi.  The  Marchesa 
moved  to  depart,  and  looked  significantly  at  the 
Lieutenant  on  her  way  out  of  the  room.  Amalia 
accompanied  her  guest.  The  Marchesa  waddled 
in  a  manner  that  was  extremely  distasteful  to 
Casanova.  Amalia  walked  along  beside  her 
humbly  and  deprecatingly. 

Now  that  the  Marchese  had  lost  all  his  ready 
cash,  Casanova  became  banker,  and,  considerably 
to  the  Marchese's  annoyance,  he  insisted  that  the 
others  should  return  to  the  game.  The  brothers 
Ricardi  eagerly  accepted  the  invitation.  The 
Abbate  shook  his  head,  saying  he  had  had  enough. 

[    73    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HO  IM  ECO  MING 

Olive  played  merely  because  he  did  not  wish  to  be 
discourteous  to  his  distinguished  guest. 

Lorenzi's  luck  held.  When  he  had  won  four 
hundred  ducats  in  all,  he  rose  from  the  table,  say- 
ing: "To-morrow  I  shall  be  happy  to  give  you 
your  revenge.  But  now,  by  your  leave,  I  shall 
ride  home." 

"Home!"  cried  the  Marchese  with  a  scornful 
laugh  —  he  had  won  back  a  few  ducats  by  this 
time.  "That  is  a  strange  way  to  phrase  it !"  He 
turned  to  the  others:  "The  Lieutenant  is  staying 
with  me.  My  wife  has  already  driven  home.  I 
hope  you'll  have  a  pleasant  time,  Lorenzi !" 

"You  know  perfectly  well,"  rejoined  Lorenzi 
imperturbably,  "that  I  shall  ride  straight  to 
Mantua,  and  not  to  your  place,  to  which  you  were 
so  good  as  to  invite  me  yesterday." 

"You  can  ride  to  hell  for  all  I  care!"  said  the 
other. 

Lorenzi  politely  took  his  leave  of  the  rest  of  the 
company,  and,  to  Casanova's  astonishment,  de- 
parted without  making  any  suitable  retort  to  the 
Marchese. 

Casanova  went  on  with  the  game,  still  winning, 
so  that  the  Marchese  ere  long  was  several  hundred 
ducats  in  his  debt.      "What's  the  use  of  it  all?" 

[   74   ] 


CASANOVA    S       HOMECOIMING 

thought  Casanova  at  first.  But  by  degrees  he 
was  once  more  ensnared  by  the  lure  of  the  gaming 
table.  "After  all,"  he  mused,  "this  is  a  lucky 
turn  of  fortune.  I  shall  soon  be  a  thousand  to  the 
good,  perhaps  even  two  thousand.  The  Marchese 
will  not  fail  to  pay  his  debt.  It  would  be  pleasant 
to  take  a  modest  competence  with  me  to  Venice. 
But  why  Venice?  Wlio  regains  wealth,  regains 
youth.  Wealth  is  everything.  At  any  rate,  I 
shall  now  be  able  to  buy  her.  AVhom?  The  only 
woman  I  w^ant  ....  She  is  standing  naked  at 
the  window  ....  I  am  sure  she  is  waiting 
there,  expecting  me  to  come  ....  She  is  stand- 
ing at  the  window  to  drive  me  mad !" 

All  the  same,  with  unruffled  brow  he  continued 
dealing  the  cards,  not  only  to  the  Marchese,  but 
also  to  Olivo  and  to  the  brothers  Ricardi.  To  the 
latter  from  time  to  time  he  pushed  over  a  gold 
piece  to  which  they  had  no  claim,  but  which  they 
accepted  without  comment.  The  noise  of  a  trot- 
ting horse  came  from  the  road.  "Lorenzi," 
thought  Casanova.  The  hoofbeats  echoed  for  a 
time  from  the  garden  wall,  until  sound  and  echo 
gradualh^  died  away. 

At  length  Casanova's  luck  turned.  The  Mar- 
chese staked  more  and  more  boldly.     By  midnight 

[   75   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Casanova  was  as  poor  as  at  the  beginning;  nay, 
poorer,  for  he  had  lost  the  few  ducats  with  which 
he  had  made  his  first  venture.  Pushing  the  cards 
away,  he  stood  up  with  a  smile,  saying:  "Thank 
you,  gentlemen,  for  a  pleasant  game." 

Olivo  stretched  out  both  hands  towards  Casa- 
nova. "Dear  friend,  let  us  go  on  with  the  game. 
....  You  have  a  hundred  and  fifty  ducats. 
Have  you  forgotten  them?  Not  only  a  hundred 
and  fifty  ducats,  but  all  that  I  have,  everything, 
everj^thing."  His  speech  was  thick,  for  he  had 
been  drinking  throughout  the  evening. 

Casanova  signified  his  refusal  with  an  exag- 
gerated but  courtlj^  gesture.  "Luck  and  women 
cannot  be  constrained,"  he  said,  bowing  towards 
the  Abbate,  who  nodded  contentedly  and  claj)ped 
his  hands. 

"Till  to-morrow,  then,  my  dear  Chevalier,"  said 
the  Marchese.  "We  will  join  forces  to  win  the 
money  back  from  Lieutenant  Lorenzi." 

The  brothers  Ricardi  insistently  demanded  that 
the  game  should  continue.  The  Marchese,  who 
was  in  a  jovial  mood,  opened  a  bank  for  them. 
They  staked  the  gold  pieces  which  Casanova  had 
allowed  them  to  win.  In  a  couple  of  minutes 
they  had  lost  them  all  to  the  Marchese,  who  de- 

[   76   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

clined  to  go  on  playing  unless  they  could  produce 
cash.  They  wrung  their  hands.  The  elder  be- 
gan to  cry  like  a  child.  The  younger,  to  comfort 
his  brother,  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks.  The  Mar- 
chese  enquired  whether  the  carriage  had  returned, 
and  the  Abbate  said  he  had  heard  it  drive  up  half 
an  hour  earlier.  Thereupon  the  Marchese  offered 
the  Abbate  and  the  t^vo  Ricardis  a  lift,  promising 
to  set  them  down  at  their  doors.  All  four  left 
the  house  together. 

When  they  had  gone,  Olivo  took  Casanova  by 
the  arm,  and  assured  his  guest  repeatedly,  with 
tears  in  his  voice,  that  everything  in  the  house  was 
at  Casanova's  absolute  disposal.  They  walked 
past  Marcolina's  window.  Not  merely  was  the 
window  closed,  but  the  iron  grating  had  been 
fastened;  within,  the  window  was  curtained. 
There  had  been  times,  thought  Casanova,  when 
all  these  precautions  had  been  unavailing,  or  had 
been  without  significance.  They  reentered  the 
house.  Olivo  would  not  be  dissuaded  from  ac- 
companying the  guest  up  the  creaking  staircase 
into  the  turret  chamber.  He  embraced  Casanova 
as  he  bade  him  good-night. 

"To-morrow,"  he  said,  "you  shall  see  the  nun- 
nery.    But  sleep  as  late  as  you  please.     We  are 

[   77   ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

not  early  risers  here ;  anyhow  we  shall  adapt  the 
hours  to  your  convenience.  Good-night!"  He 
closed  the  door  quietly,  but  his  heavy  tread  re- 
sounded through  the  house. 


[   78   ] 


CHAPTER   FOUR. 

THE  room  in  which  Casanova  was  now  left 
to  his  own  devices  was  dimly  lighted  by 
two  candles.  His  gaze  roamed  succes- 
sively to  the  four  windows,  looking  to  the  four 
quarters  of  heaven.  The  prospect  was  much  the 
same  from  them  all.  The  landscape  had  a  bluish 
sheen.  He  saw  broad  plains  with  no  more  than 
trifling  elevations,  except  to  the  northward  where 
the  mountains  were  faintly  visible.  A  few  iso- 
lated houses,  farms,  and  larger  buildings,  could 
be  made  out.  Among  these  latter  was  one  which 
stood  higher  than  the  rest.  Here  there  was  still 
a  light  in  one  of  the  windows,  and  Casanova 
imagined  it  must  be  the  Marchese's  mansion. 

The  furniture  of  the  room  was  simple.  The 
double  bed  stood  straight  out  into  the  room.  The 
two  candles  were  on  a  long  table.  There  were  a 
few  chairs,  and  a  chest  of  drawers  bearing  a  gilt- 
framed  mirror.  Everything  was  in  perfect 
order,  and  the  valise  had  been  unpacked.  On 
the  table,  locked,  lay  the  shabby  portfolio  contain- 

[   79   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

ing  Casanova's  papers.  There  were  also  some 
books  A\hich  he  was  using  in  his  work;  writing 
materials  had  been  provided. 

He  did  not  feel  sleepy.  Taking  his  manuscript 
out  of  the  portfolio,  he  reread  what  he  had  last 
written.  Since  he  had  broken  off  in  the  middle 
of  a  sentence,  it  was  easy  for  him  to  continue. 
He  took  up  the  pen,  wrote  a  phrase  or  two,  then 
paused. 

"To  what  purpose?"  he  demanded  of  himself, 
as  if  in  a  cruel  flash  of  inner  illumination.  "Even 
if  I  knew  that  what  I  am  writing,  what  I  am 
going  to  write,  would  be  considered  incomparably 
fine ;  even  if  I  could  really  succeed  in  amiiliilating 
Voltaire,  and  in  making  my  renown  greater  than 
his  —  would  I  not  gladly  commit  these  papers  to 
the  flames  could  I  but  have  Marcolina  in  my 
arms?  For  that  boon,  should  I  not  be  willing  to 
vow  never  to  set  foot  in  Venice  again,  even 
though  the  Venetians  should  wish  to  escort  me 
back  to  the  city  in  triumph?" 

"Venice!" He  breathed  the  word 

once  more.  Its  splendor  captivated  his  imagina- 
tion, and  in  a  moment  its  old  power  over  him  had 
been  restored.  The  city  of  his  youth  rose  before 
his  eyes,  enshrined  in  all  the  charms  of  memory. 

[  80  ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

His  heart  ached  with  yearning  more  intense  than 
any  that  he  could  recall.  To  renounce  the  idea  of 
returning  home  seemed  to  him  the  most  incredible 
of  the  sacrifices  which  his  destiny  might  demand. 
How  could  he  go  on  living  in  this  poor  and  faded 
world  without  the  hope,  without  the  certainty, 
that  he  was  one  day  to  see  the  beloved  city  again? 
After  the  years  and  decades  of  wanderings  and 
adventures,  after  all  the  hajDpiness  and  unhappi- 
ness  he  had  experienced,  after  all  the  honor  and 
all  the  shame,  after  so  many  triumphs  and  so  many 
discomfitures  —  he  must  at  length  find  a  resting 
place,  must  at  length  find  a  home. 

Was  there  any  other  home  for  him  than  Venice? 
Was  there  any  good  fortune  reserved  for  him 
other  than  this,  that  he  should  have  a  home  once 
more  ?  It  was  long  since  in  foreign  regions  he  had 
been  able  to  command  enduring  happiness.  He 
could  still  at  times  grasp  happiness,  but  for  a 
moment  only;  he  could  no  longer  hold  it  fast. 
His  power  over  his  fellows,  over  women  no  less 
than  over  men,  had  vanished.  Only  where  he 
evoked  memories  could  his  words,  his  voice,  his 
glance,  still  conjure;  apart  from  this,  his  pres- 
ence was  void  of  interest.     His  day  was  done ! 

He  was  willing  to  admit  what  he  had  hitherto 

[   81    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

been  sedulous  to  conceal  from  himself,  that  even 
his  literary  labors,  including  the  polemic  against 
Voltaire  upon  which  his  last  hopes  reposed,  would 
never  secure  any  notable  success.  Here,  like- 
wise, he  was  too  late.  Had  he  in  youth  but  had 
leisure  and  patience  to  devote  himself  seriously  to 
the  work  of  the  pen,  he  was  confident  he  could 
have  ranked  with  the  leading  members  of  the  pro- 
fession of  authorship,  with  the  greatest  imagina- 
tive writers  and  philosophers.  He  was  as  sure  of 
this  as  he  was  sure  that,  granted  more  persever- 
ance and  foresight  than  he  actually  possessed,  he 
could  have  risen  to  supreme  eminence  as  financier 
or  as  diplomat. 

But  what  availed  his  patience  and  his  foresight, 
what  became  of  all  his  plans  in  life,  when  the  lure 
of  a  new^  love  adventure  summoned?  Women, 
always  women.  For  them  he  had  again  and 
again  cast  everything  to  the  winds ;  sometimes  for 
women  who  were  refined,  sometimes  for  women 
who  were  vulgar;  for  passionate  women  and  for 
frigid  women ;  for  maidens  and  for  harlots.  All 
the  honors  and  all  the  joys  in  the  world  had  ever 
seemed  cheap  to  him  in  comparison  with  a  success- 
ful night  upon  a  new  love  quest. 

Did  he  regret  what  he  had  lost  through  his  per- 

[   82   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

petual  seeking  and  never  or  ever  finding,  through 
this  earthly  and  superearthly  flitting  from  crav- 
ing to  pleasure  and  from  pleasure  back  to  craving 
once  more?  No,  he  had  no  regrets.  He  had 
lived  such  a  life  as  none  other  before  him;  and 
could  he  not  still  live  it  after  his  own  fashion? 
Everywhere  there  remained  women  upon  his  path, 
even  though  they  might  no  longer  be  quite  so 
crazy  about  him  as  of  old. 

Amalia?  He  could  have  her  for  the  asking,  at 
this  very  hour,  in  her  drunken  husband's  bed. 
The  hostess  in  Mantua;  was  she  not  in  love  with 
him,  fired  with  afl^ection  and  jealousy  as  if  he  were 
a  handsome  lad?  Perotti's  mistress,  pock- 
marked, but  a  woman  \vith  a  fine  figure?  The 
very  name  of  Casanova  had  intoxicated  her  with 
its  aroma  of  a  thousand  conquests.  Had  she  not 
implored  him  to  grant  her  but  a  single  night  of 
love;  and  had  he  not  spurned  her  as  one  who 
could  still  choose  where  he  pleased? 

But  Marcolina  —  such  as  Marcolina  were  no 
longer  at  his  disposal.  Had  such  as  Marcolina 
ever  been  at  his  disposal  ?  Doubtless  there  were 
women  of  that  kind.  Perchance  he  had  met  more 
than  one  such  woman  before.  Always,  however, 
some  more  willing  than  she  had  been  available, 

[   83   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

and  he  had  never  been  the  man  to  ^^•aste  a  day  in 
vain  sighing".  Since  not  even  Lorenzi  had  suc- 
ceeded with  jMarcolina,  since  she  had  rejected  the 
hand  of  this  comely  officer  who  was  as  handsome 
and  as  bold  as  he,  Casanova,  had  been  in  youth, 
Marcolina  might  well  prove  to  be  that  wonder  of 
the  world  in  the  existence  of  which  he  had  hitherto 
disbelieved  —  the  virtuous  woman. 

At  this  juncture  he  laughed,  so  that  the  walls 
reechoed.  "The  bungler,  the  greenhorn!"  he  ex- 
claimed out  loud,  as  so  often  in  such  self-commun- 
ings.  "He  did  not  laiow  how  to  make  a  good 
use  of  his  opportunities.  Or  the  Marchesa  was 
hanging  roimd  his  neck  all  the  time.  Or  perhaps 
he  took  her  as  a  next-best,  when  Marcolina,  the 
philosopher,  the  woman  of  learning,  proved  un- 
attainable!" 

Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him.  "To-morrow 
I  will  read  her  my  polemic  against  Voltaire.  I 
can  think  of  no  one  else  who  would  be  a  competent 
critic.  I  shall  convince  her.  She  will  admire  me. 
She  will  say:  'Excellent,  Signor  Casanova.  Your 
style  is  that  of  a  most  brilliant  old  gentleman!' 

God ! 'You  have  positively  annihilated 

Voltaire,  j^ou  brilliant  senior !'  " 

He  paced  the  chamber  like  a  beast  in  a  cage, 

[   84   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

hissing  out  the  words  in  his  anger.  A  terrible 
wrath  possessed  him,  against  Marcolina,  against 
Voltaire,  against  himself,  against  the  whole  world. 
It  was  all  he  could  do  to  restrain  himself  from 
roaring  aloud  in  his  rage.  At  length  he  threw 
himself  upon  the  bed  without  undressing,  and  lay 
with  eyes  wide  open,  looking  up  at  the  joists 
among  which  spiders'  webs  were  visible,  glistening 
in  the  candlelight.  Then,  as  often  happened  to 
him  after  playing  cards  late  at  night,  pictures  of 
cards  chased  one  another  swiftly  through  his 
brain,  until  he  sank  into  a  dreamless  sleep. 

His  slumber  was  brief.  Wlien  he  awakened  it 
was  to  a  mysterious  silence.  The  southern  and 
the  eastern  windows  of  the  turret  chamber  were 
open.  Through  them  from  the  garden  and  the 
fields  entered  a  complex  of  sweet  odors.  Gradu- 
ally the  silence  was  broken  by  the  vague  noises 
from  near  and  from  far  which  usually  herald  the 
dawn.  Casanova  could  no  longer  lie  quiet;  a 
vigorous  impulse  towards  movement  gripped  him, 
and  lured  him  into  the  open.  The  song  of  the 
birds  called  to  him ;  the  cool  breeze  of  early  morn- 
ing played  upon  his  brow.  Softly  he  opened  the 
door  and  moved  cautiously  down  the  stairs.  Cun- 
ning, from  long  experience,  he  was  able  to  avoid 

[   85   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

making  the  old  staircase  creak.  The  lower  flight, 
leading  to  the  ground  floor,  was  of  stone.  Through 
the  hall,  where  half-emptied  glasses  were  still 
standing  on  the  table,  he  made  his  way  into  the 
garden.  Since  it  was  impossible  to  walk  silently 
on  the  gravel,  he  promptly  stepped  on  to  the 
greensward,  which  now,  in  the  early  twilight, 
seemed  ah  area  of  vast  proportions.  He  slipped 
into  the  side  alley,  from  which  he  could  see  Mar- 
colina's  window.  It  was  closed,  barred,  and  cur- 
tained, just  as  it  had  been  overnight.  Barely 
fifty  paces  from  the  house,  Casanova  seated  him- 
self upon  a  stone  bench.  He  heard  a  cart  roll 
by  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  and  then  every- 
thing was  quiet  again.  A  fine  grey  haze  was 
floating  over  the  greensward,  giving  it  the  aspect 
of  a  pond  with  fugitive  outlines.  Once  again 
Casanova  thought  of  that  night  long  ago  in  the 
convent  garden  at  Murano ;  he  thought  of  another 
garden  on  another  night;  he  hardly  knew  what 
memories  he  was  recalling;  perchance  it  was  a 
composite  reminiscence  of  a  hundred  nights,  just 
as  at  times  a  hundred  women  whom  he  had  loved 
would  fuse  in  memory  into  one  figure  that  loomed 
enigmatically  before  his  questioning  senses.  After 
all,  was  not  one  night  just  like  another?      Was 

[   86  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

not  one  woman  just  like  another?  Especially 
when  the  affair  was  past  and  gone?  The  phrase, 
"past  and  gone,"  continued  to  hammer  upon  his 
temples,  as  if  destined  henceforth  to  become  the 
pulse  of  his  forlorn  existence. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  something  was  rattling 
behind  him  along  the  wall.  Or  was  it  only  an 
echo  that  he  heard?  Yes,  the  noise  had  really 
come  from  the  house.  Marcolina's  window  had 
suddenly  been  opened,  the  iron  grating  had  been 
pushed  back,  the  curtain  drawn.  A  shadowy 
form  was  visible  against  the  dark  interior.  Mar- 
colina,  clad  in  a  white  nightdress,  was  standing  at 
the  window,  as  if  to  breathe  the  fragrance  of 
morning.  In  an  instant,  Casanova  slipped  be- 
hind the  bench.  Peeping  over  the  top  of  it, 
through  the  foliage  in  the  avenue,  he  watched 
Marcolina  as  if  spellbound.  She  stood  unthink- 
ing, it  seemed,  her  gaze  vaguely  piercing  the  twi- 
light. Not  until  several  seconds  had  elapsed  did 
she  appear  to  collect  herself,  to  grow  fully  awake 
and  aware,  directing  her  eyes  slowly,  now  to  right 
and  now  to  left.  Then  she  leaned  forward,  as  if 
seeking  for  something  on  the  gravel,  and  next  she 
turned  her  head,  from  which  her  hair  was  hanging 
loosely,  and  looked  up  towards  the  windows  in  the 

[   87   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOÄIING 

upper  story.  Thereafter,  she  stood  motionless 
for  a  while,  supporting  herself  with  a  hand  on 
either  side  of  the  window-frame  as  though  she 
^^'ere  fastened  to  an  invisible  cross.  Now  at 
length,  suddenly  illumined  as  it  were  from  within, 
her  features  grew  plain  to  Casanova's  vision.  A 
smile  flitted  across  her  face.  Her  arms  fell  to 
her  sides ;  her  lips  moved  strangely,  as  if  whisper- 
ing a  prayer;  once  more  she  looked  searchingly 
across  the  garden,  then  nodded  almost  impercepti- 
bly, and  at  the  instant  someone  who  must  hitherto 
have  been  crouching  at  her  feet  swung  across  the 
sill  into  the  open.  It  was  Lorenzi.  He  flew 
rather  than  walked  across  the  gravel  into  the 
alley,  which  he  crossed  barely  ten  yards  from 
Casanova,  who  held  his  breath  as  he  lay  behind 
the  bench.  Lorenzi,  hastening  on,  made  his  way 
down  a  narrow  strip  of  grass  running  along  the 
wall,  and  disappeared  from  view.  Casanova 
heard  a  door  groan  on  its  hinges  —  the  very  door 
doubtless  through  which  he,  Olivo,  and  the  Mar- 
chese  had  reentered  the  garden  on  the  previous 
day  —  and  then  all  was  still.  INIarcolina  had  re- 
mained motionless.  As  soon  as  she  knew  that 
Lorenzi  was  safely  away,  she  drew  a  deep  breath, 
and  closed  grating  and  window.     The  curtain  fell 

[   88   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

back  into  its  place,  and  all  was  as  it  had  been. 
Except  for  one  thing;  for  now,  as  if  there  were 
no  longer  any  reason  for  delay,  day  dawned  over 
house  and  garden. 

Casanova  was  still  lying  behind  the  bench,  his 
arms  outstretched  before  him.  After  a  while  he 
crept  on  all  fours  to  the  middle  of  the  alley,  and 
thence  onward  till  he  reached  a  place  where  he 
could  not  be  seen  from  Marcolina's  window  or 
from  any  of  the  others.  Rising  to  his  feet  with 
an  aching  back,  he  stretched  body  and  limbs,  and 
felt  himself  restored  to  his  senses,  as  though  re- 
transformed  from  a  whipped  hound  into  a  human 
being  —  doomed  to  feel  the  chastisement,  not  as 
bodily  pain,  but  as  profound  humiliation. 

"Why,"  he  asked  himself,  "did  I  not  go  to  the 
window  while  it  was  still  open?  Why  did  I  not 
leap  over  the  sill?  Could  she  have  offered  any 
resistance ;  would  she  have  dared  to  do  so ;  hypo- 
crite, liar,  strumpet?" 

He  continued  to  rail  at  her  as  though  he  had  a 
right  to  do  so,  as  though  he  had  been  her  lover  to 
whom  she  had  plighted  troth  and  whom  she  had 
betrayed.  He  swore  to  question  her  face  to  face ; 
to  denounce  her  before  Olivo,  Amalia,  the  Mar- 
chese,  the  Abbate,  the  servants,  as  nothing  better 

[   89    ] 


CASANOA^A    S      HOMECOMING 

than  a  lustful  little  whore.  As  if  for  practice,  he 
recounted  to  himself  in  detail  what  he  had  just 
witnessed,  delighting  in  the  invention  of  incidents 
which  would  degrade  her  yet  further.  He  would 
say  that  she  had  stood  naked  at  the  window ;  that 
she  had  permitted  the  unchaste  caresses  of  her 
lover  Awhile  the  morning  wind  played  upon  them 
both. 

After  thus  allaying  the  first  vehemence  of  his 
anger,  he  turned  to  consider  whether  he  might  not 
make  a  better  use  of  his  present  laiowledge.  Was 
she  not  in  his  power?  Could  he  not  now  exact  by 
threats  the  favors  w^hich  she  had  not  been  willing 
to  grant  him  for  love  ?  But  this  infamous  design 
was  speedily  abandoned;  not  so  much  because 
Casanova  realized  its  infamy,  as  because,  even 
while  the  plan  crossed  his  mind,  he  was  aware  of 
its  futility.  Wliy  should  Marcolina,  accountable 
to  no  one  but  herself,  be  concerned  at  his  threats? 
In  the  last  resort  she  w^as  astute  enough,  if  needs 
mvist,  to  have  him  driven  from  the  house  as  a 
slanderer  and  blackmailer.  Even  if,  for  one 
reason  or  another,  she  were  willing  to  give  herself 
to  him  in  order  to  preserve  the  secret  of  her 
amours  with  Lorenzi  (he  was  aware  that  he  was 
speculating  on  something  beyond  the  bounds  of 

[   90   ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

possibility),  a  pleasure  thus  extorted  would  be- 
come for  him  a  nameless  torment.  Casanova 
knew  himself  to  be  one  whose  rapture  in  a  love 
relationship  was  a  thousandfold  greater  when  con- 
ferring pleasure  than  when  receiving  it.  Such  a 
victory  as  he  was  contemplating  would  drive  him 
to  frenzy  and  despair. 

Suddenly  he  found  himself  at  the  door  in  the 
garden  wall.  It  was  locked.  Then  Lorenzi  had 
a  master-key!  But  who,  it  now  occurred  to  him 
to  ask,  had  ridden  the  horse  he  had  heard  trot- 
ting away  after  Lorenzi  had  left  the  card  table? 
A  servant  in  waiting  for  the  purpose,  obvi- 
ously. 

Involuntarily  Casanova  smiled  his  approval. 
They  were  worthy  of  one  another,  these  two, 
Marcolina  and  Lorenzi,  the  woman  philosopher 
and  the  officer.  A  splendid  career  lay  before 
them. 

"Who  will  be  Marcolina's  next  lover?"  he 
thought  questioningly.  "The  professor  in  Bo- 
logna in  whose  house  she  lives?  Fool,  fool !  That 
is  doubtless  an  old  story.  Who  next?  Olivo? 
TheAbbate?  Wherefore  not?  Or  the  serving- 
lad  who  stood  gaping  at  the  door  yesterday  when 
we  drove  up?       She  has  given  herself  to  all  of 

[   91    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

them.  I  am  sure  of  it.  But  Lorenzi  does  not 
know.  I  have  stolen  a  march  on  him 
there." 

Yet  all  the  while  he  was  inwardly  convinced 
that  Lorenzi  was  Marcolina's  first  lover.  Nay, 
he  even  suspected  that  the  previous  night  was  the 
first  on  which  she  had  given  herself  to  Lorenzi. 
Nevertheless,  as  he  made  the  circuit  in  the  garden 
within  the  wall,  he  continued  to  indulge  these 
spiteful,  lascivious  fantasies. 

At  length  he  reached  the  hall  door,  which  he  had 
left  open.  He  must  regain  the  turret  chamber 
unseen  and  unheard.  With  all  possible  caution 
he  crept  upstairs,  and  sank  into  the  armchair 
which  stood  in  front  of  the  table.  The  loose 
leaves  of  the  manuscript  seemed  to  have  been 
awaiting  his  return.  Involuntarily  his  eyes  fell 
upon  the  sentence  in  the  middle  of  which  he  had 
broken  off.  He  read:  "Voltaire  will  doubtless 
prove  immortal.  But  this  immortality  will  have 
been  purchased  at  the  price  of  his  immortal  part. 
Wit  has  consumed  his  heart  just  as  doubt  has  con- 
sumed his  soul,  and  therefore " 

At  this  moment  the  morning  sun  flooded  the 
chamber  with  red  light,  so  that  the  page  in  his 
hand  glowed.     As  if  vanquished,  he  laid  it  on  the 

[  92   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

table  beside  the  others.  Suddenly  aware  that  his 
lips  were  dry,  he  poured  himself  a  glass  of  water 
from  the  carafe  on  the  table ;  the  drink  was  luke- 
warm and  sweetish  to  the  taste.  Nauseated,  he 
turned  his  head  away  from  the  glass,  and  found 
himself  facing  his  image  in  the  mirror  upon  the 
chest  of  drawers.  A  wan,  aging  countenance  with 
dishevelled  hair  stared  back  at  him.  In  a  self- 
tormenting  mood  he  allowed  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  to  droop  as  if  he  were  playing  the  part  of 
pantaloon  on  the  stage ;  disarranged  his  hair  yet 
more  wildly ;  put  out  his  tongue  at  his  own  image 
in  the  mirror;  croaked  a  string  of  inane  invec- 
tives against  himself;  and  finally,  like  a  naughty 
child,  blew  the  leaves  of  his  manuscript  from  the 
table  on  to  the  floor. 

Then  he  began  to  rail  against  Marcolina  again. 
He  loaded  her  with  obscene  epithets.  "Do  you 
imagine,"  he  hissed  between  his  teeth,  "that  your 
pleasure  will  last?  You  will  become  fat  and 
wrinkled  and  old  just  like  the  other  women  who 
were  young  when  you  were  young.  You  will  be 
an  old  woman  with  flaccid  breasts ;  your  hair  will 
be  dry  and  grizzled;  you  will  be  toothless,  you 
will  have  a  bad  smell.  Last  of  all  you  will  die. 
Perhaps  you  will  die  while  you  are  stiU  quite 

[  93  ] 


CASANOVA    S      H  O  IM  E  C  O  M  I  N  G 

young.     You  will  become  a  mass  of  corruption, 
food  for  worms." 

To  wreak  final  vengeance  upon  her,  he  endeav- 
ored to  picture  her  as  dead.  He  saw  her  lying 
in  an  open  coffin,  wrapped  in  a  white  shroud. 
But  he  was  unable  to  attach  to  her  image  any  sign 
of  decay,  and  her  unearthly  beauty  aroused  him  to 
renewed  frenzy.  Through  his  closed  eyelids  he 
saw  the  coffin  transform  itself  into  a  nuptial  bed. 
Marcolina  lay  laughing  there  with  lambent  eyes. 
As  if  in  mockery,  with  her  small,  white  hands  she 
unveiled  her  firm  little  breasts.  But  as  he 
stretched  forth  his  arms  towards  her,  in  the  mo- 
ment when  he  was  about  to  clasp  her  in  his  pas- 
sionate embrace,  the  vision  faded. 


[  94  ] 


CHAPTER   FIVE. 

SOMEONE  was  knocking  at  the  door. 
Casanova  awoke  from  a  heavy  sleep  to  find 
Olivo  standing  before  him. 

"At  your  writing  so  early?" 

Casanova  promptly  collected  his  wits.  "It  is 
my  custom,"  he  said,  "to  work  the  first  thing  in 
the  morning.     What  time  is  it  ?" 

"Eight  o'clock,"  answered  Olivo.  "Breakfast 
is  ready  in  the  garden.  We  will  start  on  our 
drive  to  the  nunnery  as  early  as  you  please,  Chev- 
alier, How  the  wind  has  blown  your  papers 
about!" 

He  stooped  to  pick  up  the  fallen  leaves.  Casa- 
nova did  not  interfere.  He  had  moved  to  the 
window,  and  was  looking  down  upon  the  break- 
fast table  which  had  been  set  on  the  greensward 
in  the  shade  of  the  house.  Amalia,  Marcolina, 
and  the  three  young  girls,  dressed  in  white,  were 
at  breakfast.  They  called  up  a  good-morning. 
He  had  no  eyes  for  anyone  but  JMarcolina,  who 
smiled  at  him  frankly  and  in  the  friendliest  fash- 

[  95   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

ion.       In  her  lap  was  a  plateful  of  early-ripe 
grapes,  which  she  was  eating  deliberately. 

Contenij)t,  anger,  and  hatred  vanished  from 
Casanova's  heart.  All  he  knew  was  that  he  loved 
her.  ]\Iade  drunken  by  the  very  sight  of  her,  he 
turned  away  from  the  window  to  find  Olivo  on 
hands  and  laiees  still  assembling  the  scattered 
pages  of  manuscript  from  under  the  table  and 
chest  of  drawers.  "Don't  trouble  any  further," 
he  said  to  his  host.  "Leave  me  to  myself  for  a 
moment  while  I  get  ready  for  the  drive." 

"No  hurry,"  answered  Olivo,  rising,  and  brush- 
ing the  dust  from  his  knees.  "We  shall  easily 
be  home  in  time  for  dinner.  We  want  to  get  back 
earl}^  anyhow,  for  the  Marchese  would  like  us  to 
begin  cards  soon  after  our  meal.  I  suppose  he 
wants  to  leave  before  sunset." 

"It  doesn't  matter  to  me  what  time  you  begin 
cards,"  said  Casanova,  as  he  arranged  his  manu- 
script in  the  portfolio.  "Whatever  happens,  I 
shall  not  take  a  hand  in  the  game." 

"Yes  you  will,"  explained  Olivo  with  a  decision 
foreign  to  his  usual  manner.  Laying  a  roll  of 
gold  pieces  on  the  table,  he  continued:  "Thus  do 
I  pay  my  debt.  Chevalier.  A  belated  settlement, 
but  it  comes  from  a  grateful  heart." 

[  96  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Casanova  made  a  gesture  of  refusal. 

"I  insist,"  said  Olivo.  "If  you  do  not  take  the 
money,  you  will  wound  us  deeply.  Besides,  last 
night  Amalia  had  a  dream  which  will  certainly 
induce  you  —  but  I  will  let  her  tell  the  story  her- 
self."    He  turned  and  left  the  room  precipitately. 

Casanova  counted  the  money.  Yes,  there  were 
one  hundred  and  fifty  gold  pieces,  the  very  sum 
that  fifteen  years  earlier  he  had  presented  to  the 
bridegroom,  the  bride,  or  the  bride's  mother  —  he 
had  forgotten  which. 

"The  best  thing  I  could  do,"  he  mused,  "would 
be  to  pack  up  the  money,  say  farewell  to  Olivo 
and  Amalia,  and  leave  the  place  at  once,  if  pos- 
sible without  seeing  Marcolina  again.  Yet  when 
was  I  ever  guided  by  reason  ?  —  I  wonder  if  news 
has  reached  Mantua  from  Venice?  But  my  good 
hostess  promised  to  fonvard  without  fail  anything 
that  might  arrive." 

The  maid  meanwhile  had  brought  a  large  earth- 
enware pitcher  filled  with  water  freshly  drawn 
from  the  spring.  Casanova  sponged  himself  all 
over.  Greatly  refreshed,  he  dressed  in  his  best 
suit,  the  one  he  had  inteded  to  wear  the  previous 
evening  had  there  been  time  to  change.  Now, 
however,  he  was  delighted  that  he  would  be  able 

[   97   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

to  appear  before  Älarcolina  better  clad  than  on 
the  previous  day,  to  present  himself  in  a  new  form 
as  it  were. 

So  he  sauntered  into  the  garden  wearing  a  coat 
of  grey  satin  richly  embroidered  and  trimmed 
with  Spanish  lace;  a  yellow  waistcoat;  and  knee- 
breeches  of  cherry-colored  silk.  His  aspect  was 
that  of  a  man  who  was  distinguished  without  be- 
ing proud.  An  amiable  smile  played  about  his 
lips,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  the  fire  of  inex- 
tinguishable youth.  To  his  disappointment,  he 
found  no  one  but  Olivo,  who  bade  him  be  seated, 
and  invited  him  to  fall  to  upon  the  modest  fare. 
Casanova's  breakfast  consisted  of  bread,  butter, 
milk,  and  eggs,  followed  by  peaches  and  grapes, 
which  seemed  to  him  the  finest  he  had  ever  eaten. 
Now  the  three  girls  came  running  across  the  lawn. 
Casanova  kissed  them  in  turn,  bestowing  on  the 
thirteen-year-old  Teresina  such  caresses  as  the 
Abbate  had  been  free  with  on  the  previous  day. 
Her  eyes  gleamed  in  a  way  with  which  Casanova 
was  familiar.  He  was  convinced  this  meant 
something  more  to  her  than  childish  amusement. 

Olivo  was  delighted  to  see  how  well  the  Cheva- 
lier got  on  with  the  girls.  "Must  you  really  leave 
us  to-morrow  morning?"  he  enquired  tentatively. 

[   98    ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

"This  very  evening,"  rejoined  Casanova  jovi- 
ally. "You  know,  my  dear  Olivo,  I  must  con- 
sider the  wishes  of  the  Venetian  senators  .  .  .  ." 

"How  have  they  earned  the  right  to  any  such 
consideration  from  you?"  broke  in  Olivo.  "Let 
them  wait.  Stay  here  for  another  two  days  at 
least;  or,  better  still,  for  a  week." 

Casanova  slowly  shook  his  head.  He  had 
seized  Teresina's  hands,  and  held  her  prisoner  be- 
tween his  knees.  She  drew  herself  gently  away, 
with  a  smile  no  longer  that  of  a  child.  At  this 
moment  Amalia  and  Marcolina  emerged  from  the 
house.  Olivo  besought  them  to  second  his  invita- 
tion. But  when  neither  found  a  word  to  say  on 
the  matter,  Casanova's  voice  and  expression  as- 
sumed an  unduly  severe  emphasis  as  he  ansAvered: 
"Quite  out  of  the  question." 

On  the  way  through  the  chestnut  avenue  to  the 
road,  Marcolina  asked  Casanova  whether  he  had 
made  satisfactory  progress  with  the  polemic. 
Olivo  had  told  her  that  his  guest  had  been  at  the 
writing-table  since  early  morning. 

Casanova  was  half  inclined  to  make  an  answer 
that  would  have  been  malicious  in  its  ambiguity, 
and  would  have  startled  his  auditor  without  be- 
traying himself.      Reflecting,  however,  that  pre- 

[   99   ] 


CASANOVA    S      H  O  M  E  C  O  IM  I  N  G 

mature  advances  could  do  his  cause  nothing  but 
harm,  he  held  his  wit  in  leash,  and  civilly  rejoined 
that  he  had  been  content  to  make  a  few  emenda- 
tions, the  fruit  of  his  conversation  with  her  yes- 
terday. 

Now  they  all  seated  themselves  in  the  lumber- 
ing carriage.  Casanova  sat  opposite  Marcolina, 
Olivo  opposite  Amalia.  The  vehicle  was  so 
roomy  that,  notwithstanding  the  inevitable  jolt- 
ings, the  inmates  were  not  unduly  jostled  one 
against  the  other.  Casanova  begged  Amalia  to 
tell  him  her  dream.  She  smiled  cordiallj^  almost 
brightly,  no  longer  displaying  any  trace  of  morti- 
fication or  resentment. 

"In  my  dream,  Casanova,  I  saw  you  driving 
past  a  white  building  in  a  splendid  carriage  drawn 
by  six  chestnut  horses.  Or  rather,  the  carriage 
pulled  up  in  front  of  this  building,  and  at  first  I 
did  not  know  who  was  seated  inside.  Then  you 
got  out.  You  were  wearing  a  magnificent  white 
court  dress  embroidered  with  gold,  so  that  your 
appearance  was  almost  more  resplendent  than  it 
is  to-day."  Her  tone  conveyed  a  spice  of  gentle 
mockery.  "You  were  wearing,  I  am  sure  of  it, 
the  thin  gold  chain  you  are  wearing  to-day,  and 
yet  I  had  never  seen  it  until  this  morning!"     This 

[  100  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

chain,  with  the  gold  watch  and  gold  snuff-box  set 
with  garnets  (Casanova  was  fingering  it  as  she 
spoke) ,  were  the  only  trinkets  of  value  still  left  to 
him.  "An  old  man,  looking  like  a  beggar,  opened 
the  carriage  door.  It  was  Lorenzi.  As  for  you, 
Casanova,  you  were  young,  quite  yoimg,  younger 
even  than  you  seemed  to  me  in  those  days."  She 
said  "in  those  days"  quite  unconcernedly,  regard- 
less of  the  fact  that  in  the  train  of  these  words  all 
her  memories  came  attendant,  winging  their  way 
like  a  flight  of  birds.  "You  bowed  right  and  left, 
although  there  was  not  a  soul  within  sight;  then 
you  entered  the  house.  The  door  slammed  to  be- 
hind you.  I  did  not  loiow  whether  the  storm  had 
slammed  it,  or  Lorenzi.  So  startling  was  the 
noise  that  the  horses  took  fright  and  galloped 
away  with  the  carriage.  Then  came  a  clamor 
from  neighboring  streets,  as  if  people  were  trying 
to  save  themselves  from  being  run  over ;  but  soon 
all  was  quiet  again.  Next  I  saw  you  at  one  of 
the  windows.  Now  I  laiew  it  was  a  gaming- 
house. Once  more  you  bowed  in  all  directions, 
though  the  whole  time  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen. 
You  looked  over  your  shoulder,  as  if  someone 
were  standing  behind  you  in  the  room;  but  I 
knew  that  no  one  was  there.      Now,  of  a  sudden, 

[   101   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

I  saw  you  at  another  window,  in  a  higher  story, 
where  the  same  gestures  were  repeated.  Then 
higher  still,  and  higher,  and  yet  higher,  as  if  the 
building  were  piled  story  upon  story,  intermin- 
ably. From  each  window  in  succession,  you 
bowed  towards  the  street,  and  then  turned  to 
speak  to  persons  behind  you  —  who  were  not 
really  there  at  all.  Lorenzi,  meanwhile,  kept  on 
running  up  the  stairs,  flight  after  flight,  but  was 
never  able  to  overtake  you.  He  wanted  you 
because  you  had  forgotten  to  give  him  a 
gratuity " 

"What  next?"  enquired  Casanova,  when  Amalia 
paused. 

"There  was  a  great  deal  more,  but  I  have  for- 
gotten," said  Amalia. 

Casanova  was  disappointed.  In  such  cases, 
whether  he  was  relating  a  dream  or  giving  an  ac- 
count of  real  incidents,  it  was  his  way  to  round 
off  the  narrative,  attempting  to  convey  a  mean- 
ing. He  remarked  discontentedly:  "How 
strangely  everything  is  distorted  in  dreams. 
Fancy,  that  I  should  be  wealthy ;  and  that  Lorenzi 
should  be  a  beggar,  and  old!" 

"As  far  as  Lorenzi  is  concerned,"  interjected 
Olivo,  "there  is  not  much  wealth  about  him.     His 

[    102   ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

father  is  fairly  well  off,  but  no  one  can  say  that  of 
the  son." 

Casanova  had  no  need  to  ask  questions.  He 
was  speedily  informed  that  it  was  through  the 
Marchese  that  they  had  made  the  Lieutenant's 
acquaintance.  The  Marchese  had  brought  Lo- 
renzi  to  the  house  only  a  few  weeks  before.  A 
man  of  the  Chevalier's  wide  experience  would 
hardly  need  prompting  to  enlighten  him  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  young  officer's  relationship  to  the 
Marchesa.  After  all,  if  the  husband  had  no  ob- 
jection, the  affair  was  nobody  else's  business. 

"I  think,  Olivo,"  said  Casanova,  "that  you  have 
allowed  yourself  to  be  convinced  of  the  Marchese's 
complaisance  too  easily.  Did  you  not  notice  his 
manner  towards  the  young  man,  the  mingling  of 
contempt  and  ferocity?  I  should  not  like  to 
wager  that  all  will  end  well." 

Marcolina  remained  impassive.  She  seemed  to 
pay  no  attention  to  this  talk  about  Lorenzi,  but 
sat  with  unruffled  countenance,  and  to  all  appear- 
ance quietly  delighting  in  the  landscape.  The 
road  led  upwards  by  a  gentle  ascent  zigzagging 
through  groves  of  olives  and  holly  trees.  Now 
they  reached  a  place  where  the  horses  had  to  go 
more  slowly,  and  Casanova  alighted  to  stroll  be- 

[  103  ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

side  the  carriage.  jNIareolina  talked  of  the  lovely 
scenery  round  Bologna,  and  of  the  evening  walks 
she  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  with  Professor 
Morgagni's  daughter.  She  also  mentioned  that 
she  was  planning  a  journey  to  France  next  year, 
in  order  to  make  the  personal  acquaintance  of 
Saugrenue,  the  celebrated  mathematician  at  the 
university  of  Paris,  ^\dth  whom  she  had  corre- 
sponded. "Perhaps,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "I 
ma}^  look  in  at  Ferney  on  the  way,  in  order  to 
learn  from  Voltaire's  own  lips  how  he  has  been 
affected  by  the  polemic  of  the  Chevalier  de  Sein- 
galt, his  most  formidable  adversary." 

Casanova  was  walking  with  a  hand  on  the  side 
of  the  carriage,  close  to  Marcolina's  arm.  Her 
loose  sleeve  was  touching  his  fingers.  He  an- 
swered quietly:  "It  matters  less  what  jNI.  Voltaire 
thinks  about  the  matter  than  what  posterity 
thinks.  A  final  decision  upon  the  merits  of  the 
controversy  must  be  left  to  the  next  generation." 

"Do  you  really  think,"  said  Marcolina  ear- 
nestly, "that  final  decisions  can  be  reached  in 
questions  of  this  character?" 

"I  am  surprised  that  you  should  ask  such  a 
thing,  Marcolina.  Though  your  philosophic 
views,  and  (if  the  term  be  appropriate)  your  re- 

[    104   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

ligious  views,  seem  to  me  by  no  means  irrefutable, 
at  least  they  must  be  firmly  established  in  your 
soul  —  if  you  believe  that  there  is  a  soul." 

Mareolina,  ignoring  the  personal  animus  in 
Casanova's  words,  sat  looking  skyAvard  over  the 
tree-crests,  and  tranquilly  rejoined:  "Ofttimes, 
and  especially  on  a  day  like  this"  —  to  Casanova, 
loiowing  what  he  knew,  the  words  conveyed  the 
thrill  of  reverence  in  the  newly  awakened  heart  of 
a  woman  —  "I  feel  as  if  all  that  people  speak  of 
as  philosophy  and  religion  were  no  more  than 
playing  with  words.  A  sport  nobler  perhaps  than 
others,  nevertheless  more  unmeaning  than  them 
all.  Infinity  and  eternity  will  never  be  within 
the  grasp  of  our  understanding.  Our  path  leads 
from  birth  to  death.  What  else  is  left  for  us 
than  to  live  a  life  accordant  with  the  law  that  each 
of  us  bears  within  —  or  a  life  of  rebellion  against 
that  law?  For  rebellion  and  submissiveness  both 
issue  from  God." 

Olivo  looked  at  his  niece  with  timid  admiration, 
then  turned  to  contemplate  Casanova  with  some 
anxiety.  Casanova  was  in  search  of  a  rejoinder 
which  should  convince  Mareolina  that  she  was  in 
one  breath  affirming  and  denying  God,  or  should 
prove  to  her  that  she  was  proclaiming  God  and 

[  105  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOäIECOIMING 

the  Devil  to  be  the  same.  He  realized,  however, 
that  he  had  nothing  but  empty  words  to  set 
against  her  feelings,  and  to-day  words  did  not 
come  to  him  readily.  His  expression  showed  him 
to  be  somewhat  at  a  loss,  and  apparently  reminded 
Amalia  of  the  confused  menaces  he  had  uttered 
on  the  previous  day.  So  she  hastened  to  remark: 
"iMarcolina  is  deeply  religious  all  the  same,  I  can 
assure  you,  Chevalier." 

Marcolina  smiled. 

"We  are  all  religious  in  our  several  ways,"  said 
Casanova  civilly. 

Now  came  a  turn  in  the  road,  and  the  nunnery 
was  in  sight.  The  slender  tops  of  cypresses 
showed  above  the  encirclmg  wall.  At  the  sound 
of  the  approaching  carriage,  the  great  doors  had 
s^vamg  open.  The  porter,  an  old  man  with  a 
flowing  white  beard,  bowed  gravely  and  gave 
them  admittance.  Through  the  cloisters,  between 
the  columns  of  which  they  caught  glimpses  of  an 
overgrown  garden,  they  advanced  towards  the 
main  building,  from  whose  unadorned,  grey,  and 
prisonlike  exterior  an  unpleasantly  cool  air  was 
wafted.  Olivo  pulled  the  bellrope;  the  answer- 
ing sound  was  high-pitched,  and  died  away  in  a 
moment.      A  veiled  nun  silently  appeared,  and 

[    106   ] 


Casanova's     homecoming 

ushered  the  guests  into  the  spacious  parlor.  It 
contained  merely  a  few  plain  wooden  chairs,  and 
the  hack  was  cut  off  by  a  heavy  iron  grating,  be- 
yond which  nothing  could  be  seen  but  a  vague 
darkness. 

With  bitterness  in  his  heart,  Casanova  recalled 
the  adventure  which  still  seemed  to  him  the  most 
wonderful  of  all  his  experiences.  It  had  begun 
in  just  such  surroundings  as  the  present.  Before 
his  eyes  loomed  the  forms  of  the  two  inmates  of 
the  Murano  convent  who  had  been  friends  in  their 
love  for  him.  In  conjunction  they  had  bestowed 
upon  him  hours  of  incomparable  sweetness.  When 
Olivo,  in  a  whisper,  began  to  speak  of  the  strict 
discipline  imposed  upon  this  sisterhood  —  once 
they  were  professed,  the  nuns  must  never  appear 
unveiled  before  a  man,  and  they  were  vowed  to 
perpetual  silence  — a  smile  flitted  across  Casa- 
nova's face. 

The  Abbess  suddenly  emerged  from  the  gloom, 
and  was  standing  in  their  midst.  In  silence  she 
saluted  her  guests,  and  with  an  exaggerated  rev- 
erence of  her  veiled  head  acknowledged  Casa- 
nova's expressions  of  gratitude  for  the  admission 
of  himself,  a  stranger.  But  when  INIarcolina 
wished  to  kiss  her  hand,  the  Abbess  gathered  the 

[    107   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

girl  in  her  arms.  Then,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand 
inviting  them  to  follow,  she  led  the  way  through 
a  small  room  into  a  cloister  surrounding  a  quad- 
rangular flo\^'er-garden.  In  contrast  to  the  outer 
garden,  which  had  run  wild,  this  inner  garden  was 
tended  with  especial  care.  The  flower-beds,  bril- 
liant in  the  sunshine,  showed  a  wonderful  play  of 
variegated  colors.  The  warm  odors  were  almost 
intoxicating.  One,  intermingled  with  the  rest, 
aroused  no  responsive  echo  in  Casanova's  memory. 
Puzzled,  he  was  about  to  say  a  word  on  the  sub- 
ject to  Marcolina,  when  he  perceived  that  the 
enigmatic,  stimulating  fragrance  emanated  from 
herself.  She  had  removed  her  shawl  from  her 
shoulders  and  was  carrying  it  over  her  arm. 
From  the  opening  of  her  gown  came  a  perfume 
at  once  kindred  to  that  of  the  thousand  flowers  of 
the  garden,  and  yet  unique. 

The  Abbess,  still  without  a  word,  conducted  the 
visitors  between  the  flower-beds  upon  narrow, 
winding  paths  which  traversed  the  garden  like  a 
lovely  labyrinth.  The  graceful  ease  of  her  gait 
showed  that  she  was  enjoying  the  chance  of  show- 
ing others  the  motley  splendors  of  her  garden. 
As  if  she  had  determined  to  make  her  guests 
giddy,  she  moved  on  faster  and  ever  faster  like 

[  108  ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

the  leader  of  a  lively  folk-dance.  Then,  quite 
suddenly,  so  that  Casanova  seemed  to  awaken 
from  a  confusing  dream,  they  all  found  themselves 
in  the  parlor  once  more.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
grating,  dim  figures  were  moving.  It  was  im- 
possible to  distinguish  whether,  behind  the  thick 
bars,  three  or  five  or  twenty  veiled  women  were 
flitting  to  and  fro  like  startled  ghosts.  Indeed, 
none  but  Casanova,  with  eyes  preternaturally 
acute  to  pierce  the  darkness,  could  discern  that 
they  were  human  outlines  at  all. 

The  Abbess  attended  her  guests  to  the  door, 
mutely  gave  them  a  sign  of  farewell,  and  vanished 
before  they  had  found  time  to  express  their  thanks 
for  her  courtesy. 

Suddenly,  just  as  they  were  about  to  leave  the 
parlor,  a  woman's  voice  near  the  grating  breathed 
the  word  "Casanova."  Nothing  but  his  name,  in 
a  tone  that  seemed  to  him  quite  unfamiliar.  From 
whom  came  this  breach  of  a  sacred  vow?  Was  it 
a  woman  he  had  once  loved,  or  a  woman  he  had 
never  seen  before?  Did  the  syllables  convey  the 
ecstasy  of  an  unexpected  reencounter,  or  the  pain 
of  something  irrecoverably  lost ;  or  did  it  convey 
the  lamentation  that  an  ardent  wish  of  earlier 
days  had  been  so  late  and  so  fruitlessly  fulfilled? 
[  109  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOIVIING 

Casanova  could  not  teil.  All  that  he  knew  was 
that  his  name,  \\hich  had  so  often  voiced  the  whis- 
pers of  tender  affection,  the  stammerings  of  pas- 
sion, the  acclamations  of  happiness,  had  to-day 
for  the  first  time  pierced  his  heart  with  the  full 
resonance  of  love.  But,  for  this  very  reason,  to 
probe  the  matter  curiously  would  have  seemed  to 
him  ignoble  and  foolish.  The  door  closed  behind 
the  party,  shutting  in  a  secret  which  he  was  never 
to  unriddle.  Were  it  not  that  the  expression  on 
each  face  had  shown  timidly  and  fugitively  that 
the  call  to  Casanova  had  reached  the  ears  of  all, 
each  might  have  fancied  himself  or  herself  a  prey 
to  illusion.  No  one  uttered  a  word  as  they  walked 
through  the  cloisters  to  the  great  doors.  Casa- 
nova brought  up  the  rear,  with  bowed  head,  as  if 
on  the  occasion  of  some  profoundly  affecting 
farewell. 

The  porter  was  waiting.  He  received  his 
alms.  The  visitors  stepped  into  the  carriage,  and 
started  on  the  homeward  road.  Olivo  seemed 
perplexed;  Amalia  was  distrait.  Marcolina, 
however,  was  quite  unmoved.  Too  pointedly,  in 
Casanova's  estimation,  she  attempted  to  engage 
Amalia  in  a  discussion  of  household  affairs,  a 
topic  upon  which  Olivo  was  compelled  to  come  to 

[  no  ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

his  wife's  assistance.  Casanova  soon  joined  in 
the  discussion,  which  turned  upon  matters  relat- 
ing to  kitchen  and  cellar.  An  expert  on  these 
topics,  he  saw  no  reason  why  he  should  hide  his 
light  under  a  bushel,  and  he  seized  the  opportunity 
of  giving  a  fresh  proof  of  versatility.  There- 
upon, Amalia  roused  herself  from  her  brown 
study.  After  their  recent  experience  —  at  once 
incredible  and  haunting  —  to  all,  and  especially 
to  Casanova,  there  was  a  certain  comfort  derivable 
from  an  extremely  commonplace  atmosphere  of 
mundane  life.  When  the  carriage  reached  home, 
where  an  inviting  odor  of  roast  meat  and  cooking 
vegetables  assailed  their  nostrils,  Casanova  was  in 
the  midst  of  an  appetizing  description  of  a  Polish 
pasty,  a  description  to  which  even  Marcolina  at- 
tended with  a  flattering  air  of  domesticity. 


[  HI  ] 


CHAPTER    SIX. 

IN  a  strangely  tranquillized,  almost  happy 
mood,  which  was  a  surprise  to  himself,  Casa- 
nova sat  at  table  with  the  others,  and  paid 
court  to  Marcolina  in  the  sportive  manner  which 
might  seem  appropriate  from  a  distinguished 
elderly  gentleman  towards  a  well-bred  young- 
woman  of  the  burgher  class.  She  accepted  his 
attentions  gracefully,  in  the  spirit  in  which  they 
appeared  to  be  offered.  He  found  it  difficult  to 
believe  that  his  demure  neighbor  was  the  same 
Marcolina  from  whose  bedroom  window  he  had 
seen  a  young  officer  emerge,  a  man  who  had  ob- 
viously held  her  in  his  arms  but  a  few  moments 
earlier.  It  was  equally  difficult  for  him  to  realize 
how  this  tender  girl,  who  was  fond  of  romping  on 
the  grass  with  other  children,  could  conduct  a 
learned  correspondence  with  Saugrenue,  the  re- 
nowned mathematician  of  Paris.  Yet  simultane- 
ously he  derided  himself  for  the  inertness  of  his 
imagination.  Had  he  not  learned  a  thousand 
times  that  in  the  souls  of  all  persons  who  are  truly 

[    113   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

alive,  discrepant  elements,  nay,  apparently  hostile 
elements,  may  coexist  in  perfect  harmony?  He 
himself,  who  shortly  before  had  been  so  pro- 
foundly moved,  had  been  desperate,  had  been 
ready  for  evil  deeds,  was  now  so  gentle,  so  kindly, 
in  so  merry  a  mood,  that  Olivo's  little  daughters 
were  shaking  their  sides  with  laughter.  Never- 
theless, as  was  usual  with  him  after  strong  excite- 
ment, his  appetite  was  positively  ferocious,  and 
this  served  to  warn  him  that  order  was  not  yet 
fully  restored  in  his  soul. 

With  the  last  course,  the  maid  brought  in  a 
despatch  which  had  just  arrived  for  the  Chevalier 
by  special  messenger  from  Mantua.  Olivo  no- 
ticed that  Casanova  grew  pale.  He  told  the 
servant  to  provide  the  messenger  with  refresh- 
ment, then  turned  to  his  guest. 

"Pray  don't  stand  upon  ceremony.  Chevalier. 
Read  your  letter." 

"If  you  will  excuse  me,"  answered  Casanova. 
He  went  to  the  window  and  opened  the  missive 
with  simulated  indifference.  It  was  from  Signor 
Bragadino,  an  old  friend  of  the  family  and  a  con- 
firmed bachelor,  over  eighty  years  of  age,  and  for 
the  last  decade  a  member  of  the  Supreme  Coun- 
cil.      He  had  sho'vvn  more  interest  than  other 

[  114  ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

patrons  in  pressing  Casanova's  suit.  The  letter 
was  beautifully  written,  although  the  characters 
were  a  little  shaky.     It  was  as  follows : 

"My  dear  Casanova: 

"I  am  delighted,  at  length,  to  be  able  to  send 
you  news  which  will,  I  hope,  be  substantially  ac- 
cordant with  your  wishes.  The  Supreme  Council, 
at  its  last  sitting,  which  took  place  yesterday  even- 
ing, did  not  merely  express  its  willingness  to  per- 
mit your  return  to  Venice.  It  went  further. 
The  Council  desires  that  your  advent  should  be 
as  speedy  as  possible,  since  there  is  an  intention 
to  turn  to  immediate  account  the  active  gratitude 
which  you  have  foreshadowed  in  so  many  of  your 
letters. 

"Since  Venice  has  been  deprived  for  so  long  of 
the  advantage  of  your  presence,  you  may  perhaps 
be  unaware,  my  dear  Casanova,  that  quite  re- 
cently the  internal  affairs  of  our  beloved  native 
city  have  taken  a  rather  unfavorable  trend  both 
politically  and  morally.  Secret  societies  have 
come  into  existence,  directed  against  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  Venetian  state,  and  even,  it  would 
seem,  aiming  at  its  forcible  overthrow.  As  might 
be  expected,  the  members  of  these  societies,  per- 

[    115   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

sons  whom  it  would  not  be  too  harsh  to  denominate 
conspirators,  are  chiefly  drawn  from  certain  free- 
thinking,  irreligious,  and  lawless  circles.  Not  to 
speak  of  what  goes  on  in  private,  we  learn  that 
in  the  public  squares  and  in  coffee  houses,  the 
most  outrageous,  the  most  treasonable  conversa- 
tions, take  place.  But  only  in  excejitional  in- 
stances has  it  been  possible  to  catch  the  guilty  in 
the  act,  or  to  secure  definite  proof  against  the 
offenders.  A  few  admissions  have  been  enforced 
by  the  rack,  but  these  confessions  have  proved  so 
untrustworthy  that  several  members  of  the  Coun- 
cil are  of  opinion  that  for  the  future  it  w^ould  be 
better  to  abstain  from  methods  of  investigation 
which  are  not  only  cruel  but  are  apt  to  lead  us 
astray.  Of  course  there  is  no  lack  of  individuals 
well-affected  towards  public  order  and  devoted  to 
the  welfare  of  the  state,  individuals  who  would  be 
delighted  to  place  their  services  at  the  disj)Osal  of 
the  government;  but  most  of  them  are  so  well 
kno^^Ti  as  stalwart  supporters  of  the  existing  con- 
stitution that  when  they  are  present  people  are 
chary  in  their  utterances  and  are  most  unlikely  to 
give  vent  to  treasonable  expressions. 

"At  yesterday's  sitting,  one  of  the  senators, 
whom  I  will  not  name,  expressed  the  opinion  that 

[    116   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

a  man  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  without 
moral  principle  and  who  was  furthermore  re- 
garded as  a  freethinker  —  in  short,  Casanova, 
such  a  man  as  yourself  —  if  recalled  to  Venice 
would  not  fail  to  secure  prompt  and  sympathetic 
welcome  in  the  very  circles  which  the  government 
regards  with  such  well-grounded  suspicion.  If 
he  played  his  cards  well,  such  a  man  would  soon 
inspire  the  most  absolute  confidence. 

"In  my  opinion,  irresistibly,  and  as  if  by  the 
force  of  a  law  of  nature,  there  would  gravitate 
around  your  person  the  very  elements  which  the 
Supreme  Council,  in  its  indefatigable  zeal  for  the 
state,  is  most  eager  to  render  harmless  and  to  pun- 
ish in  an  exemplary  manner.  For  your  part,  my 
dear  Casanova,  j^ou  would  give  us  an  acceptable 
proof  of  your  patriotic  zeal,  and  would  furnish  in 
addition  an  infallible  sign  of  your  complete  con- 
version from  all  those  tendencies  for  which,  during 
your  imi)risonment  in  The  Leads,  you  had  to 
atone  by  punishment  which,  though  severe,  was 
not,  as  you  now  see  for  yourself  (if  we  are  to  be- 
lieve your  epistolary  assurances),  altogether  un- 
merited. I  mean,  should  you  be  prepared,  imme- 
diately on  your  return  home,  to  act  in  the  way 
previously  suggested,  to  seek  acquaintance  with 

[    117   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HO  AI  ECO  MING 

the  elements  sufficiently  specified  above,  to  intro- 
duce yourself  to  them  in  the  friendliest  fashion  as 
one  who  cherishes  the  same  tendencies,  and  to  fur- 
nish the  Senate  with  accurate  and  full  reports  of 
everything  which  might  seem  to  you  suspicious  or 
worthy  of  note. 

"For  these  services  the  authorities  would  offer 
you,  to  begin  with,  a  salary  of  tw^o  hundred  and 
fifty  lire  per  month,  apart  from  special  payments 
in  cases  of  exceptional  importance.  I  need  hardly 
say  that  you  would  receive  in  addition,  without  too 
close  a  scrutiny  of  the  items,  an  allowance  for  such 
expenses  as  you  might  incur  in  the  discharge  of 
j^our  duties  (I  refer,  for  instance,  to  the  treating 
of  this  individual  or  of  that,  little  gifts  made  to 
women,  and  so  on) . 

"I  do  not  attempt  to  conceal  from  myself  that 
you  may  have  to  fight  down  certain  scruples  be- 
fore you  will  feel  inclined  to  fulfil  our  wishes. 
Permit  me,  however,  as  your  old  and  sincere 
friend  (who  was  himself  young  once),  to  remind 
you  that  it  can  never  be  regarded  as  dishonorable 
for  a  man  to  perform  any  services  that  may  be 
essential  for  the  safety  of  his  beloved  fatherland 
—  even  if,  to  a  shallow-minded  and  unpatriotic 
citizen,  such  services  might  seem  to  be  of  an  un- 

[    118   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

worthy  character.  Let  me  add,  Casanova,  that 
your  knowledge  of  human  nature  will  certainly 
enable  you  to  draw  a  distinction  between  levity 
and  criminality,  to  differentiate  the  jester  from 
the  heretic.  Thus  it  will  be  within  your  power, 
in  appropriate  cases,  to  temper  justice  with 
mercy,  and  to  deliver  up  to  punishment  those  only 
who,  in  your  honest  opinion,  may  deserve  it. 

"Above  all  I  would  ask  you  to  consider  that, 
should  you  reject  the  gracious  proposal  of  the 
Supreme  Council,  the  fulfilment  of  your  dearest 
wish  —  your  return  to  Venice  —  is  likely  to  be 
postponed  for  a  long  and  I  fear  for  an  indefinite 
period ;  and  that  I  myself,  if  I  may  allude  to  the 
matter,  as  an  old  man  of  eighty-one,  should  be 
compelled  in  all  human  probability  to  renounce 
the  pleasing  prospect  of  ever  seeing  you  again  in 
this  life. 

"Since,  for  obvious  reasons,  your  appointment 
will  be  of  a  confidential  and  not  of  a  public  na- 
ture, I  beg  you  to  address  to  me  personally  your 
reply,  for  which  I  make  myself  responsible,  and 
which  I  wish  to  present  to  the  Council  at  its  next 
sitting  a  week  hence.  Act  with  all  convenient 
speed,  for,  as  I  have  previously  explained,  we  are 
daily   receiving   offers    from    thoroughly   trust- 

[  119  ] 


CASANOA^A    S      HOMECOMING 

worthy  persons  who,  from  patriotic  motives,  vol- 
untarily place  themselves  at  the  disposal  of  the 
Supreme  Council.  Nevertheless,  there  is  hardly 
one  among  them  who  can  compare  with  you,  my 
dear  Casanova,  in  respect  of  exx^erience  or  intelli- 
gence. If,  in  addition  to  all  the  arguments  I 
have  adduced,  you  take  my  personal  feelings  into 
account,  I  find  it  difficult  to  doubt  that  j^ou  will 
gladly  respond  to  the  call  which  now  reaches  you 
from  so  exalted  and  so  friendly  a  source. 

"Till  then,  receive  the  assurances  of  my  undy- 
ing friendship. 

"Bragadino." 

"Postscript.  Immediately  upon  receipt  of 
your  acceptance,  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  send 
you  a  remittance  of  two  hundred  lire  through  the 
banking  firm  of  Valori  in  Mantua.  The  sum  is 
to  defray  the  cost  of  your  journey. 

"B." 

Long  after  Casanova  had  finished  reading  the 
letter,  he  stood  holding  the  paper  so  as  to  conceal 
the  deathly  pallor  of  his  countenance.  From  the 
dining-table  came  a  continuous  noise,  the  rattle  of 
plates  and  the  clinking  of  glasses;  but  conversa- 
tion had  entirely  ceased.     At  length  Amalia  ven- 

[    120   ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

tured  to  say:    "The  food  is  getting  cold,  Cheva- 
lier; won't  you  go  on  with  your  meal?" 

"You  must  excuse  me,"  replied  Casanova,  let- 
ting his  face  be  seen  once  more,  for  by  now, 
owing  to  his  extraordinary  self-control,  he  had 
regained  outward  composure.  "I  have  just  re- 
ceived the  best  possible  news  from  Venice,  and  I 
must  reply  instantly.  With  your  leave,  I  will 
go  to  my  room." 

"Suit  yourself,  Chevalier,"  said  Olivo.  "But 
do  not  forget  that  our  card  party  begins  in  an 
hour." 

In  the  turret  chamber  Casanova  sank  into  a 
chair.  A  chill  sweat  broke  out  over  his  body; 
he  shivered  as  if  in  the  cold  stage  of  a  fever;  he 
was  seized  with  such  nausea  that  he  felt  as  if  he 
were  about  to  choke.  For  a  time  he  was  unable 
to  think  clearly,  and  he  could  do  no  more  than 
devote  his  energies  to  the  task  of  self-restraint 
without  quite  knowing  why  he  did  so.  But  there 
was  no  one  in  the  house  upon  whom  he  could  vent 
his  fury;  and  he  could  not  fail  to  realize  the  utter 
absurdity  of  a  half-formed  idea  that  Marcolina 
must  be  in  some  way  contributory  to  the  intoler- 
able shame  which  had  been  put  upon  him. 

As  soon  as  he  was  in  some  degree  once  more 

[    121    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

master  of  himself,  his  first  thought  was  to  take 
revenge  upon  the  scoundrels  who  had  believed 
that  he  could  be  hired  as  a  police  spy.  He  would 
return  to  Venice  in  disguise,  and  would  exert  all 
his  cunning  to  compass  the  death  of  these 
wretches  —  or  at  least  of  whomever  it  was  that 
had  conceived  the  despicable  design. 

Was  Bragadino  the  prime  culprit?  WHiy  not? 
An  old  man  so  lost  to  all  sense  of  shame  that  he 
had  dared  to  write  such  a  letter  to  Casanova;  a 
dotard  who  could  actually  believe  that  Casanova, 
whom  he  had  personally  kno\Mi,  would  set  his 
hand  to  this  ignominious  task.  He  no  longer 
knew  Casanova!  Nor  did  anyone  know  him,  in 
Venice  or  elsewhere.  But  people  should  learn  to 
know  him  once  more. 

It  was  true  that  he  was  no  longer  young 
enough  or  handsome  enough  to  seduce  an  honest 
girl.  Nor  did  he  now  possess  the  skill  and  the 
agility  requisite  for  an  escape  from  prison,  or  for 
gymnastic  feats  upon  the  roof-tops.  But  in 
spite  of  his  age,  he  was  cleverer  than  anyone  else ! 
Once  back  in  Venice,  he  could  do  anything  he 
pleased.  The  first  step,  the  essential  step,  was  to 
get  back.  Perhaps  it  would  not  be  necessary  to 
kill  anyone.     There  were  other  kinds  of  revenge, 

[    122   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

grimmer,  more  devilish,  than  a  commonplace  mur- 
der. If  he  were  to  feign  acceptance  of  the  Coun- 
cil's proposal,  it  would  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world  to  compass  the  destruction  of  those  whom 
he  wished  to  destroy,  instead  of  bringing  about 
the  ruin  of  those  whom  the  authorities  had  in 
mind,  and  who  were  doubtless  the  finest  fellows 
among  all  the  inhabitants  of  Venice!  Mon- 
strous! Because  they  were  the  enemies  of  this 
infamous  government,  because  they  were  reputed 
heretics,  were  they  to  languish  in  The  Leads 
where  he  had  languished  twenty-five  years  ago,  or 
were  they  to  perish  under  the  executioner's  axe? 
He  detested  the  government  a  hundred  times 
more  than  they  did,  and  with  better  reason.  He 
had  been  a  lifelong  heretic ;  was  a  heretic  to-day, 
upon  sincerer  conviction  than  them  all.  What  a 
queer  comedy  he  had  been  playing  of  late  years  — 
simply  from  tedium  and  disgust.  He  to  believe 
in  God?  Whpt  sort  of  a  God  was  it  who  was 
gracious  only  to  the  young,  and  left  the  old  in  the 
lurch?  A  God  who,  when  the  fancy  took  him, 
became  a  devil ;  who  transformed  wealth  into  pov- 
erty, fortune  into  misfortune,  happiness  into 
despair.  "You  play  with  us  —  and  we  are  to 
worship  you?  To  doubt  your  existence  is  the 
[  123  ] 


CASANOVA    S      H  O  IVI  E  C  O  IM  I  X  G 

only  resource  left  open  to  us  if  we  are  not  to 
blaspheme  j'^ou!  You  do  not  exist;  for  if  you 
did  exist,  I  should  curse  you!" 

Shaking  his  clenched  fists  heavenward,  he  rose 
to  his  feet.  Involuntarilj^  a  detested  name  rose 
to  his  lips.  Voltaire!  Yes,  now^  he  was  in  the 
right  mood  to  finish  his  polemic  against  the  sage 
of  Ferney.  To  finish  it?  No,  now  was  the  time 
to  begin  it.  A  new  one !  A  different  one !  One 
in  which  the  ridiculous  old  fool  should  be  shown 
up  as  he  deserved :  for  his  pusillanimity,  his  half- 
heartedness,  his  subservience.  He  an  unbeliever? 
A  man  of  whom  the  latest  news  was  that  he  was 
on  excellent  terms  with  the  priests,  that  he  visited 
church,  and  on  feast  days  actually  went  to  con- 
fession! He  a  heretic?  He  was  a  chatterbox,  a 
boastful  coward,  nothing  more !  But  the  daj^  of 
reckoning  was  at  hand,  and  soon  there  would  be 
nothing  left  of  the  great  philosopher  but  a  quill- 
driving  buffoon. 

What  airs  he  had  given  himself,  this  worthy  jM. 
Voltaire!  "My  dear  M.  Casanova,  I  am  really 
vexed  with  you.  Wliat  concern  have  I  with  the 
works  of  INIerlin?  It  is  your  fault  that  I  have 
wasted  four  hours  over  such  nonsense." 

All  a  matter  of  taste,  excellent  M.  Voltaire! 

[    124   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

People  will  continue  to  read  Merlin  long  after 
L,a  Pucelle  has  been  forgotten.  Possibly  they 
will  continue  to  prize  my  sonnets,  the  sonnets  you 
returned  to  me  with  a  shameless  smile,  and  with- 
out saying  a  word  about  them.  But  these  are 
trifles.  Do  not  let  us  spoil  a  great  opportunity 
because  of  our  sensitiveness  as  authors.  We  are 
concerned  with  philosophy  —  with  God!  We 
shall  cross  swords,  M.  Voltaire,  unless  you  die 
before  I  have  a  chance  to  deal  with  you. 

He  was  already  in  the  mind  to  begin  his  new 
polemic,  when  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  mes- 
senger was  waiting  for  an  answer.  He  hastily 
indited  a  letter  to  the  old  duffer  Bragadino,  a  let- 
ter full  of  hypocritical  humility  and  simulated 
delight.  With  joy  and  gratitude  he  accepted  the 
pardon  of  the  Council.  He  would  expect  the  re- 
mittance by  return  of  post,  so  that  with  all  pos- 
sible speed  he  might  present  himself  before  his 
patrons,  and  above  all  before  the  honored  old  fam- 
ily friend,  Bragadino. 

When  he  was  in  the  act  of  sealing  the  letter, 
someone  knocked  gently  at  the  door.  At  the 
word,  Olivo's  eldest  daughter,  the  thirteen-year- 
old  Teresina,  entered,  to  tell  him  that  the  whole 
company  was  assembled  below,  and  that  the  Chev- 

[    125   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

alier  was  impatiently  awaited  at  the  card  table. 
Her  eyes  gleamed  strangely;  her  cheeks  were 
flushed;  her  thick,  black  hair  lay  loose  upon  her 
temples ;  her  little  mouth  was  half  open. 

"Have  you  been  drinking  wine,  Teresina?" 
asked  Casanova  striding  towards  her. 

"Yes.  How  did  you  know?"  She  blushed 
deeper,  and  in  her  embarrassment  she  moistened 
her  lips  with  her  tongue. 

Casanova  seized  her  by  the  shoulders,  and, 
breathing  in  her  face,  drew  her  to  the  bed.  She 
looked  at  him  with  great  helpless  eyes  in  which 
the  light  was  now  extinguished.  But  when  she 
opened  her  mouth  as  if  to  scream,  Casanova's 
aspect  was  so  menacing  that  she  was  almost  par- 
alyzed with  fear,  and  let  him  do  whatever  be 
pleased. 

He  kissed  her  with  a  tender  fierceness,  whisper- 
ing: "You  must  not  tell  the  Abbate  anything 
about  this,  Teresina,  not  even  in  confession. 
Some  day,  when  you  have  a  lover  or  a  husband, 
there  is  no  reason  why  he  should  know  anything 
about  it.  You  should  always  keep  your  own 
counsel.  Never  tell  the  truth  to  your  father,  your 
mother,  or  your  sisters,  that  it  may  be  well  with 
you  on  earth.     Mark  my  words." 

[   126   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

As  he  spoke  thus  blasphemously,  Teresina 
seemed  to  regard  his  utterance  as  a  pious  admoni- 
tion, for  she  seized  his  hand  and  kissed  it  rever- 
ently as  if  it  had  been  a  priest's. 

He  laughed.  "Come,"  he  said,  "come,  little 
wife,  we  will  walk  arm  in  arm  into  the  room  down- 
stairs !" 

She  seemed  a  little  coy  at  first,  but  smiled  with 
genuine  gratification. 

It  was  high  time  for  them  to  go  down,  for  they 
met  Olivo  coming  up.  He  was  flushed  and  wore 
a  frown,  so  that  Casanova  promptly  inferred  that 
the  Marchese  or  the  Abbate  had  roused  his  sus- 
picions by  some  coarse  jest  concerning  Teresina's 
prolonged  absence.  His  brow  cleared  when  he 
beheld  Casanova  on  the  threshold,  standing  arm 
in  arm  with  the  girl  as  if  in  sport. 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  kept  you  all  waiting,  Olivo," 
said  Casanova.  "I  had  to  finish  my  letter."  He 
held  the  missive  out  to  Olivo  in  proof  of  his 
words. 

"Take  it,"  said  Olivo  to  Teresina,  smoothing 
her  rumpled  hair.      "Hand  it  to  the  messenger." 

"Here  are  two  gold  pieces  for  the  man,"  added 
Casanova.  "He  must  bestir  himself,  so  that  the 
letter  may  leave  Mantua  for  Venice  to-day.    And 

[    127   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

ask  him  to  tell  my  hostess  at  the  inn  that  I  shall 
return  this  evening." 

"This  evening?"  exclaimed  Olivo.  "Impos- 
sible!" 

"Oh,  well,  we'll  see,"  observed  Casanova  af- 
fably. "Here,  Teresina,  take  this,  a  gold  piece 
for  yourself."  When  Olivo  demurred,  Casanova 
added:  "Put  it  in  your  moneybox,  Teresina. 
That  letter  is  worth  any  amount  of  gold  pieces !" 

Teresina  tripped  away,  and  Casanova  nodded 
to  himself  contentedly.  In  days  gone  by  he  had 
possessed  the  girl's  mother  and  grandmother  also, 
and  he  thought  it  a  particularly  good  joke  that 
he  was  paying  the  little  wench  for  her  favors 
under  the  very  eyes  of  her  father. 


[    128   ] 


CHAPTER    SEVEN. 

WHEN  Casanova  entered  the  hall  with 
Olivo,  cards  had  already  begun.  He 
acknowledged  with  serene  dignity  the 
effusive  greeting  of  the  company,  and  took  his 
place  opposite  the  Marchese,  who  was  banker. 
The  windows  into  the  garden  were  open.  Casa- 
nova heard  voices  outside ;  Marcolina  and  Anialia 
strolled  by,  glanced  into  the  room  for  a  moment, 
and  then  disappeared. 

While  the  Marchese  was  dealing,  Lorenzi 
turned  to  Casanova  with  ceremonious  politeness, 
saying:  "My  compliments.  Chevalier.  You  were 
better  informed  than  I.  My  regiment  is  under 
orders  to  march  to-morrow  afternoon." 

The  Marchese  looked  surprised.  "^Vhy  did 
you  not  tell  us  sooner,  Lorenzi?" 

"The  matter  did  not  seem  of  such  supreme  im- 
portance." 

*'It  is  of  no  great  importance  to  me,"  said  the 
Marchese.  "But  don't  you  think  it  is  of  consid- 
erable importance  to  my  wife?"       He  laughed 

[    129   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

raucously.  "As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  some 
interest  in  the  matter  myself.  You  won  four 
hundred  ducats  from  me  yesterday,  and  there  is 
not  much  time  left  in  which  to  win  them  back." 

"The  Lieutenant  won  money  from  us  too,"  said 
the  younger  Ricardi.  The  elder,  silent  as  usual, 
looked  over  his  shoulder  at  his  brother,  who  stood 
behind  the  elder's  chair  as  on  the  previous  day. 

"Luck  and  women "  began  the  Abbate. 

The  INIarchese  finished  the  sentence  for  him: 
" cannot  be  constrained." 

Lorenzi  carelessh''  scattered  his  gold  on  the 
table.  "There  you  are.  I  will  stake  it  all  upon 
a  single  card,  if  you  like,  INIarchese,  so  that  you 
need  not  wait  for  your  money." 

Casanova  suddenly  became  aware  of  a  feeling 
of  compassion  for  Lorenzi,  a  feeling  he  was  puz- 
zled to  account  for.  But  he  believed  himself  to 
be  endowed  with  second-sight,  and  he  had  a  pre- 
monition that  the  Lieutenant  would  fall  in  his 
first  encounter. 

The  ^larchese  did  not  accept  the  suggestion  of 
high  stakes,  nor  did  Lorenzi  insist.  They  re- 
sumed the  game,  therefore,  much  as  on  the  pre- 
vious night,  everyone  taking  a  hand  at  first,  and 
only  moderate  sums  being  ventured.      A  quarter 

[    130   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

of  an  hour  later,  however,  the  stakes  began  to  rise, 
and  ere  long  Lorenz!  had  lost  his  four  hundred 
ducats  to  the  INIarchese. 

Casanova  had  no  constancy  either  in  luck  or  ill- 
luck.  He  won,  lost,  and  won  again,  in  an  almost 
ludicrously  regular  alternation. 

Lorenzi  drew  a  breath  of  relief  when  his  last 
gold  piece  had  gone  the  way  of  the  others.  Ris- 
ing from  the  table,  he  said:  "I  thank  you,  gentle- 
men. This,"  he  hesitated  for  a  moment,  "this 
will  prove  to  have  been  my  last  game  for  a  long 
time  in  your  hospitable  house.  If  you  will  allow 
me,  Signor  Olivo,  I  will  take  leave  of  the  ladies 
before  riding  into  town.  I  must  reach  Mantua 
ere  nightfall  in  order  to  make  preparations  for 
to-morrow." 

"Shameless  liar,"  thought  Casanova.  "You 
will  return  here  to-night,  to  Marcolina's  arms!" 
Rage  flamed  u]3  in  him  anew. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  Marchese  maliciously. 
"The  evening  will  not  come  for  hours.  Is  the 
game  to  stop  so  early?  If  you  like,  Lorenzi,  my 
coachman  shall  drive  home  with  a  message  to  the 
Marchesa  to  let  her  know  that  you  will  be  late." 

"I  am  going  to  ride  to  Mantua,"  rejoined  Lo- 
renzi impatiently. 

[  131  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HO  IM  ECO  MING 

The  INIarchese,  ignoring  this  statement,  went 
on:  "There  is  still  plenty  of  time.  Put  up  some 
of  your  OUT!  money,  if  it  be  but  a  single  gold 
piece."     He  dealt  Lorenzi  a  card. 

"I  have  not  a  single  gold  piece  left,"  said 
Lorenzi  wearily. 

"Really?" 

"Not  one,"  asserted  Lorenzi,  as  if  tired  of  the 
whole  matter. 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  Marchese,  with  a  sud- 
den assumption  of  amiability  which  was  far  from 
congenial.  "I  will  trust  \^ou  as  far  as  ten  ducats 
goes,  or  even  for  a  larger  sum  if  needs  must." 

"All  right,  a  ducat,  then,"  said  Lorenzi,  taking 
up  the  card  dealt  to  him. 

The  Marchese  won.  Lorenzi  went  on  with  the 
game,  as  if  this  were  now  a  matter  of  course,  and 
was  soon  in  the  Marchese' s  debt  to  the  amount  of 
one  hundred  ducats. 

At  this  stage  Casanova  became  banker,  and  had 
even  better  luck  than  the  Marchese.  There  re- 
mained only  three  plaj^ers.  To-day  the  brothers 
Ricardi  stood  aside  without  complaint.  Olivo 
and  the  Abbate  were  merely  interested  onlookers. 

No  one  uttered  a  syllable.  Only  the  cards 
spoke,  and  they  spoke  in  unmistakable  terms. 

[    132   ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

By  the  hazard  of  fortune  all  the  cash  found  its 
way  to  Casanova.  In  an  hour  he  had  won  two 
thousand  ducats ;  he  had  won  them  from  Lorenzi, 
though  they  came  out  of  the  pockets  of  the 
Marchese,  who  at  length  sat  there  without  a 
soldo. 

Casanova  offered  him  whatever  gold  pieces  he 
might  need.  The  Marchese  shook  his  head. 
"Thanks,"  he  said,  "I  have  had  enough.  The 
game  is  over  as  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

From  the  garden  came  the  laughing  voices  of 
the  girls.  Casanova  heard  Teresina's  voice  in 
particular,  but  he  was  sitting  with  his  back  to  the 
window  and  did  not  turn  round.  He  tried  once 
more  to  persuade  the  Marchese  to  resume  the 
game  —  for  the  sake  of  Lorenzi,  though  he  hardly 
knew  what  moved  him.  The  Marchese  refused 
with  a  yet  more  decisive  headshake. 

Lorenzi  rose,  saying:  "I  shall  have  the  honor, 
Signor  Marchese,  of  handing  the  amount  I  owe 
you  to  you  personally,  before  noon  to-morrow." 

The  Marchese  laughed  drily.  "I  am  curious 
to  know  how  you  will  manage  that,  Lieutenant 
Lorenzi.  There  is  not  a  soul,  in  Mantua  or  else- 
where, who  would  lend  you  as  much  as  ten  ducats, 
not  to  speak  of  two  thousand,  especially  to-day. 

[    133    ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOIVIING 

For  to-morrow  j'^ou  will  be  on  the  march,  and  who 
can  tell  whether  you  will  ever  return?" 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  Signor  Mar- 
chese,  that  you  shall  have  the  money  at  eight 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

"Your  word  of  honor,"  said  the  Marchese,  "is 
not  worth  a  single  ducat  to  me,  let  alone  two 
thousand." 

The  others  held  their  breath.  Lorenzi,  appar- 
ently unmoved,  merely  answered:  "You  will  give 
me  satisfaction,  Signor  IMarchese." 

"With  pleasure,  Signor  Lieutenant,"  rejoined 
the  INIarchese,  "as  soon  as  you  have  paid  your 
debt." 

Olivo,  who  was  profoundly  distressed,  here  in- 
tervened, stammering  slightly:  "I  stand  surety 
for  the  amount,  Signor  ^larchese.  Unfortu- 
nately I  have  not  sufficient  ready  money  on  the 

spot ;  but  there  is  the  house,  the  estate " 

He  closed  the  sentence  with  an  awkward  wave  of 
the  hand. 

"I  refuse  to  accept  your  surety,  for  your  oa\ti 
sake,"  said  the  INIarchese.  "You  would  lose  your 
money." 

Casanova  saw  that  all  eyes  were  turned  towards 
the  gold  that  lay  on  the  table  before  him.    "\Vliat 

[    134   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

if  I  were  to  stand  surety  for  Lorenzi,"  he  thought. 
"What  if  I  were  to  pay  the  debt  for  him?  The 
Marchese  could  not  refuse  my  offer.  I  almost 
think  I  ought  to  do  it.  It  was  the  Marchese's 
money." 

But  he  said  not  a  word.  He  felt  that  a  plan 
was  taking  shape  in  his  mind,  and  that  above  all 
he  needed  time  in  which  he  might  become  clear  as 
to  its  details. 

"You  shall  have  the  money  this  evening,  before 
nightfall,"  said  Lorenzi.  "I  shall  be  in  Mantua 
in  an  hour." 

"Your  horse  may  break  its  neck,"  replied  the 
Marchese.     "You  too;  intentionally,  perhaps." 

"Anyhow,"  said  the  Abbate  indignantly,  "the 
Lieutenant  cannot  get  the  money  here  by 
magic." 

The  two  Ricardis  laughed;  but  instantly  re- 
strained their  mirth. 

Olivo  once  more  addressed  the  Marchese.  "It 
is  plain  that  you  must  grant  Lieutenant  Lorenzi 
leave  to  depart." 

"Yes,  if  he  gives  me  a  pledge,"  exclaimed  the 
INIarchese  with  flashing  eyes,  as  if  this  idea  gave 
him  peculiar  delight. 

"That  seems  rather  a  good  plan,"  said  Casa- 

[    135   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HO  INI  ECO  MING 

nova,  a  little  absent-mindedly,  for  his  scheme  was 
ripening. 

Lorenzi  dreAv  a  ring  from  his  finger  and  flicked 
it  across  the  table. 

The  Marchese  took  it  up,  saying:  "That  is 
good  for  a  thousand." 

"What  about  this  one?"  Lorenzi  threw  down 
another  ring  in  front  of  the  Marchese. 

The  latter  nodded,  saying:  "That  is  good  foi 
the  same  amount." 

"Are  you  satisfied  now,  Signor  Marchese?" 
enquired  Lorenzi,  moving  as  if  to  go. 

"I  am  satisfied,"  answered  the  Marchese,  with 
an  evil  chuckle;  "all  the  more,  seeing  that  the 
rings  are  stolen." 

Lorenzi  turned  sharply,  clenching  his  fist  as  if 
about  to  strike  the  Marchese.  Olivo  and  the 
Abbate  seized  Lorenzi's  arm. 

"I  know  both  the  stones,  though  they  have  been 
reset,"  said  the  Marchese  without  moving  from 
his  place.  "Look,  gentlemen,  the  emerald  is 
slightly  flawed,  or  it  would  be  worth  ten  times  the 
amount.  The  ruby  is  flawless,  but  it  is  not  a 
large  one.  Both  the  stones  come  from  a  set  of 
jewels  which  I  once  gave  my  wife.  And,  since  it 
is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  suppose  that  the 

[  136  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Marchesa  had  them  reset  in  rings  for  Lieutenant 
Lorenzi,  it  is  obvious  that  they  have  been  stolen  — 
that  the  whole  set  has  been  stolen.  Well,  well, 
the  pledge  suffices,  Sig'nor  Lieutenant,  for  the 
nonce." 

"Lorenzi!"  cried  Olivo,  "we  all  give  you  our 
word  that  no  one  shall  ever  hear  a  syllable  from 
us  about  what  has  just  happened." 

"And  whatever  Signor  Lorenzi  may  have 
done,"  said  Casanova,  "you,  Signor  Marchese,  are 
the  greater  rascal  of  the  two." 

"I  hope  so,"  replied  the  Marchese.  "When 
anyone  is  as  old  as  we  are,  Chevalier  de  Seingalt, 
assuredly  he  should  not  need  lessons  in  rascality. 
Good-evening,  gentlemen." 

He  rose  to  his  feet.  No  one  responded  to  his 
farewell,  and  he  went  out. 

For  a  space  the  silence  was  so  intense,  that  once 
again  the  girls'  laughter  was  heard  from  the 
garden,  now  seeming  unduly  loud. 

Who  would  have  ventured  to  utter  the  word 
that  was  searing  Lorenzi's  soul,  as  he  stood  at  the 
table  with  his  arm  still  raised?  Casanova,  the 
only  one  of  the  company  who  had  remained 
seated,  derived  an  involuntary  artistic  pleasure 
from  the  contemplation  of  this  fine,  threatening 

[    137   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

gesture,  meaningless  now,  but  seemingly  petri- 
fied, as  if  the  young  man  had  been  transformed 
into  a  statue. 

At  length  Olivo  turned  to  him  with  a  soothing 
air ;  the  Ricardis,  too,  drew  near ;  and  the  Abbate 
appeared  to  be  working  himself  up  for  a  speech. 
But  a  sort  of  shiver  passed  over  Lorenzi's  frame. 
Automatically  but  insistently  he  silently  indicated 
his  rejection  of  any  offers  at  intervention.  Then, 
with  a  polite  inclination  of  the  head,  he  quietly 
left  the  room. 

Casanova,  who  had  meanwhile  wrapped  up  the 
money  in  a  silken  kerchief,  instantly  followed. 
Without  looking  at  the  others'  faces,  he  could  feel 
that  they  were  convinced  it  was  his  instant  inten- 
tion to  do  what  they  had  all  the  while  been  expect- 
ing, namely,  to  place  his  winnings  at  Lorenzi's 
disposal. 


[   138   ] 


CHAPTER   EIGHT. 

CASANOVA  overtook  Lorenz!  in  the 
chestnut  avenue.  Speaking  lightly,  he 
said:  "May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  accom- 
panying you  on  your  walk,  Lieutenant  Lorenzi?" 

Lorenzi,  without  looking  at  him,  answered  in 
an  arrogant  tone  which  seemed  hardly  in  keeping 
with  his  situation:  "As  you  please,  Chevalier; 
but  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  find  me  an  amusing 
companion." 

"Perhaps,  Lieutenant,  you  will  on  the  other 
hand  find  me  an  entertaining  companion.  If  you 
have  no  objection,  let  us  take  the  path  through 
the  vineyard,  where  our  conversation  will  be 
undisturbed." 

They  turned  aside  from  the  high-road  into  the 
narrow  footway  running  beside  the  garden  wall, 
along  which  Casanova  had  walked  with  Olivo  on 
the  previous  day. 

"You  are  right  in  supposing,"  began  Casanova, 
"that  I  have  it  in  mind  to  offer  you  the  sum  of 
money  which  you  owe  to  the  Marchese.     Not  as  a 

[    139   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

loan.  That,  if  you  will  excuse  my  saying  so, 
seems  to  me  rather  too  risky  a  venture.  I  could 
let  you  have  it  as  a  slight  return  for  a  service 
which  I  think  you  may  be  able  to  do  me." 

"Go  on,"  said  Lorenzi  coldly. 

"Before  I  say  any  more,"  answered  Casanova, 
in  a  similar  tone,  "I  must  make  a  condition  upon 
your  acceptance  of  which  the  continuance  of  this 
conversation  depends." 

"Name  your  condition." 

"Give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  you  will 
listen  to  me  without  interruption,  even  though 
what  I  have  to  say  may  arouse  your  displeasure  or 
your  wrath.  When  you  have  heard  me  to  the  end, 
it  will  rest  entirely  with  yourself  whether  you 
accept  a  proposal  which,  I  am  well  aware,  is  of  an 
extremely  unusual  nature.  But  I  want  you  to 
answer  it  with  a  simple  Yes  or  No.  Whatever  the 
issue,  no  one  is  to  hear  a  word  concerning  what 
passes  at  this  interview  between  two  men  of  honor, 
who  are  perhaps  no  better  than  they  should  be." 

"I  am  ready  to  listen  to  your  proposal." 

"You  accept  my  condition?" 

"I  will  not  interrupt  you." 

"And  you  will  answer  nothing  beyond  Yes  or 
No?" 

[    140   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

"Nothing  beyond  Yes  or  No." 

"Very  well,"  said  Casanova.  They  walked 
slowly  up  the  hill,  between  the  vine  stocks,  in  the 
sultry  heat  of  the  late  afternoon.  Casanova  be- 
gan to  speak:  "We  shall  perhaps  understand  one 
another  best  if  we  discuss  the  matter  logically. 
It  is  obvious  that  you  have  absolutely  no  chance 
of  obtaining  the  money  you  owe  the  Marchese 
within  the  prescribed  time.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  that  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  ruin  you 
should  you  fail  to  pay.  Since  he  knows  more  of 
you  than  he  actually  disclosed  to  us  to-day"  — 
Casanova  was  venturing  beyond  the  limits  of  his 
own  knowledge,  but  he  loved  to  take  these  little 
risks  when  following  up  a  path  decided  on  in  ad- 
vance —  "you  are  absolutely  in  the  power  of  the 
old  ruffian,  and  your  fate  as  an  officer  and  a  gen- 
tleman would  be  sealed.  There  you  have  one  side 
of  the  question.  On  the  other  hand,  you  will  be 
saved  as  soon  as  you  have  paid  your  debt,  and  as 
soon  as  you  get  back  those  rings  —  however  you 
may  have  come  by  them.  This  will  mean  the 
recovery  of  an  existence  which  is  otherwise  practi- 
cally closed.  Since  you  are  young,  handsome, 
and  bold,  it  will  mean  the  recovery  of  an  existence 
which  offers  splendor,  happiness,   and  renown. 

[   141    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOJNIING 

This  appears  to  me  a  most  attractive  prospect; 
especially  seeing  that  the  only  alternative  is  an 
inglorious,  nay,  a  shameful  ruin ;  for  such  a  i^ros- 
pect,  I  should  be  willing  to  sacrifice  a  prejudice 
which  I  had  never  really  possessed.  I  am  well 
aware,  Lorenzi,"  he  added  quickly,  as  if  expect- 
ing contradiction  and  desiring  to  forestall  it,  "I 
am  well  aware,  that  you  have  no  more  prejudices 
than  I  have  or  ever  had.  What  I  am  going  to 
ask  of  j^ou  is  merely  what  I  should  in  your  place 
under  like  circumstances  be  willing  to  do,  without 
a  moment's  hesitation.  Indeed,  I  have  never 
hesitated,  at  the  call  of  destiny  or  as  the  outcome 
of  caprice,  to  commit  a  rascality,  or  rather,  that 
to  which  fools  give  such  a  name.  Like  you, 
Lorenzi,  I  have  ever  been  ready  to  hazard  my  life 
for  less  than  nothing,  and  to  call  it  quits.  I  am 
ready  to  do  so  now,  if  my  proposal  prove  inac- 
ceptable.  We  are  made  of  the  same  stuff,  you 
and  I ;  we  are  brothers  in  spirit ;  we  may  there- 
fore disclose  our  souls  to  one  another  without  false 
shame,  proud  in  our  nakedness.  Here  are  my 
two  thousand  ducats.  Call  them  yours,  if  you 
enable  me  to  spend  to-night  in  your  place  with 
Marcolina.  —  Let  us  not  stand  still,  if  you  please, 
Lorenzi.     Let  us  continue  our  walk." 

[    142   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

They  walked  through  the  fields,  beneath  the 
fruit  trees,  between  which  the  vines,  heavy  with 
grape-clusters,  were  trellised.  Casanova  went  on 
without  a  pause;  "Don't  answer  me  yet,  Lorenzi, 
for  I  have  not  finished.  My  request  would  natur- 
ally be,  if  not  monstrous,  at  least  preposterous,  if 
it  were  your  intention  to  make  INIarcolina  your 
wife,  or  if  Marcolina's  o^vn  hopes  or  wishes  turned 
in  this  direction.  But  just  as  last  night  was  your 
first  night  spent  in  love  together"  —  he  uttered 
this  guess  as  if  he  had  absolute  laiowledge  of  the 
fact  —  "so  also  was  the  ensuing  night  predes- 
tined, according  to  all  human  calculation,  accord- 
ing to  your  own  expectations  and  Marcolina's,  to 
be  your  last  night  together  for  a  long  period  and 
probably  for  ever.  I  am  absolutely  convinced 
that  ^larcolina  herself,  in  order  to  save  her  lover 
from  certain  destruction,  and  simply  upon  his 
wish,  would  be  perfectly  willing  to  give  this  one 
night  to  his  savior.  For  she,  too,  is  a  philosopher, 
and  is  therefore  just  as  free  from  prejudices  as 
we  are.  Nevertheless,  certain  as  I  am  that  she 
would  meet  the  test,  I  am  far  from  intending  that 
it  should  be  imposed  upon  her.  To  possess  a 
woman  outwardly  passive  but  inwardly  resistant, 
would  be  far  from  satisfying  my  desires,  least  of 
[  143  ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

all  in  the  present  case.  I  wish,  not  merely  as  a 
lover,  but  also  as  one  beloved,  to  taste  a  rapture 
which  I  should  be  prepared  to  pay  for  with  my 
life.  Understand  this  clearly,  Lorenzi.  For  the 
reason  I  have  explained,  Marcolina  must  not  for 
an  instant  suspect  that  I  am  the  man  whom  she 
is  clasping  to  her  sweet  bosom ;  she  must  be  firmly 
convinced  that  you  are  in  her  arms.  It  is  your 
part  to  pave  the  way  for  this  deception ;  mine  to 
maintain  it.  You  will  not  have  much  difficulty  in 
making  her  understand  that  you  will  have  to  leave 
her  before  da^Mi.  Nor  need  you  be  at  a  loss  for 
a  pretext  as  to  the  necessity  for  perfectly  mute 
caresses  when  you  return  at  night,  as  you  will 
promise  to  return.  To  avert  all  danger  of  dis- 
covery at  the  last  moment,  I  shall,  when  the  time 
comes  for  me  to  leave,  act  as  if  I  heard  a  suspicious 
noise  outside  the  window.  Seizing  my  cloak, — 
or  rather  yours,  which  you  must  of  course  lend  me 
for  the  occasion  —  I  shall  vanish  through  the  win- 
dow, never  to  return.  For,  of  course,  I  shall  take 
my  leave  this  evening.  But  half-way  back  to  Man- 
tua, telling  the  coachman  that  I  have  forgotten 
some  important  papers,  I  shall  return  here  on  foot. 
Entering  the  garden  by  the  side  door  (you  must 
give  me  the  master-key) ,  I  shall  creep  to  Marco- 

[    144   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Una's  window,  which  must  be  opened  for  me  at 
midnight.  I  shall  have  taken  off  my  clothes  in  the 
carriage,  even  to  my  shoes  and  stockings,  and  shall 
wear  only  your  cloak,  so  that  when  I  take  to  flight 
nothing  will  be  left  to  betray  either  you  or  me. 
The  cloak  and  the  two  thousand  ducats  will  be  at 
your  disposal  at  five  o'clock  to-morrow  morning 
in  the  inn  at  Mantua,  so  that  you  may  deliver  over 
the  money  to  the  Marchese  even  before  the 
appointed  hour.  I  pledge  my  solemn  oath  to  fulfil 
my  side  of  the  bargain.    I  have  finished." 

Suddenly  he  stood  still.  The  sun  was  near  to 
setting.  A  gentle  breeze  made  the  yellow  ears 
rustle;  the  tower  of  Olivo's  house  glowed  red  in 
the  evening  light.  Lorenzi,  too,  halted.  His 
pale  face  was  motionless,  as  he  gazed  into  vacancy 
over  Casanova's  shoulder.  His  arms  hung  limp 
by  his  sides,  whereas  Casanova's  hand,  ready  for 
any  emergency,  rested  as  if  by  chance  upon  the 
hilt  of  his  sword.  A  few  seconds  elapsed,  and 
Lorenzi  was  still  silent.  He  seemed  immersed 
in  tranquil  thought,  but  Casanova  remained  on 
the  alert,  holding  the  kerchief  with  the  ducats  in 
his  left  hand,  but  keeping  the  right  upon  his 
sword-hilt.     He  spoke  once  more. 

"You  have  honorably  fulfilled  my  conditions. 

[    145   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

I  know  that  it  has  not  been  easy.  For  even 
though  we  may  be  free  from  prejudices,  the  at- 
mosphere in  which  we  live  is  so  full  of  them  that 
we  cannot  wholly  escape  their  influence.  And 
just  as  you,  Lorenzi,  during  the  last  quarter  of 
an  hour,  have  more  than  once  been  on  the  point 
of  seizing  me  by  the  throat ;  so  I,  I  must  confess, 
played  for  a  time  with  the  idea  of  giving  you  the 
two  thousand  ducats  as  to  my  friend.  Rarely, 
Lorenzi,  have  I  been  so  strangely  drawn  to  any- 
one as  I  was  to  you  from  the  first.  But  had  I 
yielded  to  this  generous  impulse,  the  next  moment 
I  should  have  regretted  it  bitterly.  In  like  man- 
ner you,  Lorenzi,  in  the  moment  before  you  blow 
your  brains  out,  would  desperately  regret  having 
been  such  a  fool  as  to  throw  away  a  thousand 
nights  of  love  with  new  and  ever  new  women  for 
one  single  night  of  love  which  neither  night  nor 
day  was  to  follow." 

Lorenzi  remained  mute.  His  silence  continued 
for  many  minutes,  until  Casanova  began  to  ask 
himself  how  long  his  patience  was  to  be  tried. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  departing  with  a  curt 
salutation,  and  of  thus  indicating  that  he  under- 
stood his  proposition  to  have  been  rejected,  when 
Lorenzi,  without  a  word  slowly  moved  his  right 

[  146  ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

hand  backwards  into  the  tail-pocket  of  his  coat. 
Casanova,  ever  on  his  guard,  instantly  stepped 
back  a  pace,  and  was  ready  to  duck.  Lorenzi 
handed  him  the  key  of  the  garden  door. 

Casanova's  movement,  which  had  certainly  be- 
tokened fear,  brought  to  Lorenzi' s  lips  the  flicker 
of  a  contemptuous  smile.  Casanova  was  able  to 
repress  all  sign  of  his  rising  anger,  for  he  knew 
that  had  he  given  way  to  it  he  might  have  ruined 
his  design.  Taking  the  key  with  a  nod,  he  merely 
said:  "No  doubt  that  means  Yes.  In  an  hour 
from  now — an  hour  will  suffice  for  your  under- 
standing ^^'ith  IMarcolina  —  I  shall  expect  you  in 
the  turret  chamber.  There,  in  exchange  for  your 
cloak,  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  handing  you 
the  two  thousand  gold  pieces  without  further 
delay.  First  of  all,  as  a  token  of  confidence; 
and  secondly  because  I  really  do  not  loiow  what 
I  should  do  with  the  money  during  the  night." 

They  parted  without  further  formality.  Lo- 
renzi returned  to  the  house  by  the  path  along 
which  they  had  both  come.  Casanova  made  his 
way  to  the  village  by  a  different  route.  At  the 
inn  there,  by  paying  a  considerable  sum  as  earnest 
money,  he  was  able  to  arrange  for  a  carriage  to 
await  him  at  ten  o'clock  that  evening  for  the  drive 
from  Olivo's  house  into  Mantua. 

[    147  ] 


CHAPTER   nine: 

RETURNING  to  the  house,  Casanova 
disposed  of  his  gold  in  a  safe  corner  of 
the  turret  chamber.  Thence  he  de- 
scended to  the  garden,  where  a  spectacle  awaited 
him,  not  in  itself  remarkable,  but  one  which 
touched  him  strangely  in  his  present  mood.  Upon 
a  bench  at  the  edge  of  the  greensward  Olivo  was 
sitting  beside  Amalia,  his  arm  round  her  waist. 
Reclining  at  their  feet  were  the  three  girls,  tired 
out  by  the  afternoon's  play,  Maria,  the  young- 
est, had  her  head  in  her  mother's  lap,  and  seemed 
to  be  asleep;  Nanetta  lay  at  full  length  on  the 
grass  with  her  head  pillowed  on  her  arm ;  Teresina 
was  leaning  against  her  father's  knee,  and  he  was 
stroking  her  hair.  As  Casanova  drew  near, 
Teresina  greeted  him,  not  with  the  look  of  lascivi- 
ous understanding  which  he  had  involuntarily 
expected,  but  with  a  frank  smile  of  childlike  con- 
fidence, as  if  what  had  passed  between  them  only 
a  few  hours  before  had  been  nothing  more  than 
some  trivial  pastime.      Olivo's  face  lighted  up  in 

[  149  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

friendly  fashion,  and  Anialia  nodded  a  cordial 
greeting.  It  was  plain  to  Casanova  that  they 
were  receiving  him  as  one  who  had  just  performed 
a  generous  deed,  but  who  would  prefer,  from  a 
sense  of  refinement,  that  no  allusion  should  be 
made  to  the  matter. 

"Are  you  really  determined  to  leave  us  to- 
morrow, Chevalier?"  enquired  Olivo. 

"Not  to-morrow,"  answered  Casanova,  "but,  as 
I  told  you,  this  ver}?-  evening." 

Olivo  would  fain  have  renewed  his  protests,  but 
Casanova  shrugged,  saying  in  a  tone  of  regret: 
"Unfortunateh^,  my  letter  from  Venice  leaves  me 
no  option.  The  summons  sent  to  me  is  so  honor- 
able in  every  respect  that  to  delay  my  return 
home  would  be  an  unpardonable  affront  to  my 
distinguished  patrons."  He  asked  his  host  and 
hostess  to  excuse  him  for  a  brief  space.  He 
would  go  to  his  room,  make  all  ready  for  depar- 
ture, and  would  then  be  able  to  enjoy  the  last 
hours  of  his  stay  undisturbed  in  his  dear  friends' 
company. 

Disregarding  further  entreaties,  he  went  to  the 
turret  chamber,  and  first  of  all  changed  his  attire, 
since  the  simpler  suit  must  suffice  for  the  journey. 
He    then   packed   his   valise,    and   listened    for 

[   150  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Lorenzi's  footsteps  with  an  interest  which  grew 
keener  from  moment  to  moment.  Before  the 
time  was  up,  Lorenzi,  knocking  once  at  the  door, 
entered,  wearing  a  dark  blue  riding-cloak.  With- 
out a  word,  he  slipped  the  cloak  from  his  shoul- 
ders and  let  it  fall  to  the  floor,  where  it  lay 
between  the  two  men,  a  shapeless  mass  of  cloth. 
Casanova  withdrew  his  kerchief  filled  with  the 
gold  pieces  from  beneath  the  bolster,  and  emptied 
the  money  on  the  table.  He  counted  the  coins 
under  Lorenzi's  eyes  —  a  process  which  was  soon 
over,  for  many  of  the  gold  pieces  were  worth  sev- 
eral ducats  each.  Putting  the  stipulated  sum 
into  two  purses,  he  handed  these  to  Lorenzi.  This 
left  about  a  hundred  ducats  for  himself.  Lorenzi 
stuffed  the  purses  into  his  tail-pockets,  and  was 
about  to  leave,  still  silent. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Lorenzi,"'  said  Casanova. 
"Our  paths  in  life  may  cross  once  again.  If  so 
let  us  meet  as  friends.  We  have  made  a  bargain 
like  many  another  bargain;  let  us  cry  quits." 

Casanova  held  out  his  hand.  Lorenzi  would 
not  take  it.  He  spoke  for  the  first  time.  "I 
cannot  recall  that  anything  was  said  about  this  in 
our  agreement."  Turning  on  his  heel  he  left  the 
room. 

[   151   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

"Do  we  stand  so  strictly  upon  the  letter,  my 
friend?"  thought  Casanova.  "It  behooves  me  all 
the  more  to  see  to  it  that  I  am  not  duped  in  the 
end."  In  truth,  he  had  given  no  serious  thought 
to  this  possibility.  He  knew  from  personal  ex- 
perience that  such  men  as  Lorenzi  have  their  own 
peculiar  code  of  honor,  a  code  which  cannot  be 
written  in  formal  propositions,  but  which  they 
can  be  relied  upon  to  observe. 

He  packed  Lorenzi's  cloak  in  the  top  of  the 
valise.  Having  stowed  away  upon  his  person 
the  remaining  gold  pieces,  he  took  a  final  glance 
round  the  room  which  he  was  never  likely  to  re- 
visit. Then  with  sword  and  hat,  ready  for  the 
journey,  he  made  his  way  to  the  hall,  where  he 
found  Olivo,  Amalia,  and  the  children  already 
seated  at  table.  At  the  same  instant,  Marcolina 
entered  by  the  garden  door.  The  coincidence  was 
interpreted  by  Casanova  as  a  propitious  sign. 
She  answered  his  salutation  with  a  frank  inclina- 
tion of  the  head. 

Supper  was  now  served.  The  conversation 
dragged  a  little  at  first,  as  if  all  were  oppressed 
by  the  thought  of  the  imminent  leave-taking. 
Amalia  seemed  busied  with  her  girls,  concerned 
to  see  that  they  were  not  helped  to  too  much  or 

[   152   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

too  little.  Olivo,  somewhat  irrelevantly,  began 
to  speak  of  a  trifling  lawsuit  he  had  just  won 
against  a  neighboring  landowner.  Next  he  re- 
ferred to  a  business  journey  to  Mantua  and 
Cremona,  which  he  would  shortly  have  to  under- 
take. Casanova  expressed  the  hope  that  ere  long 
he  would  be  able  to  entertain  his  friend  in  Venice, 
a  city  which,  by  a  strange  chance,  Olivo  had  never 
visited.  Amalia  had  seen  the  place  of  wonder  as 
a  child.  She  could  not  recall  the  journey  thither, 
but  could  only  remember  having  seen  an  old  man 
wrapped  in  a  scarlet  cloak,  disembarking  from  a 
long  black  boat.  He  had  stumbled  and  had 
fallen  prone. 

"Have  you  never  been  to  Venice  either?"  asked 
Casanova  of  Marcolina,  who  was  seated  facing 
him,  so  that  she  could  see  over  his  shoulder  into 
the  deep  gloom  of  the  garden.  She  shook  her 
head.  Casanova  mused:  "If  I  could  but  show 
you  the  city  in  which  I  passed  my  youth !  Had 
you  but  been  young  with  me !"  Another  thought, 
as  foolish  as  both  of  these,  crossed  his  mind:  "Even 
now,  if  I  could  but  take  you  there  with  me." 

While  thus  thinking,  at  the  same  time,  with  the 
ease  of  manner  peculiar  to  him  in  moments  of 
great  excitement,  he  began  to  speak  of  his  native 

[    153   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOIMING 

city.  At  first  his  language  was  cool ;  he  used  an 
artist's  touch,  as  if  painting  a  picture.  Warming 
up  by  degrees,  he  entered  into  details  of  personal 
history,  so  that  of  a  sudden  his  own  figure  ap- 
peared in  the  centre  of  the  canvas,  filling  it  with 
life.  He  spoke  of  his  mother,  the  celebrated 
actress,  for  whom  her  admirer  Goldoni  had  writ- 
ten his  admirable  comedy,  La  Pujnlla.  Next  he 
recounted  the  unhaiDpy  days  spent  in  Dr.  Gozzi's 
boarding  school.  Then  he  spoke  of  his  childish 
passion  for  the  gardener's  little  daughter,  who 
had  subsequently  run  away  with  a  lackey ;  of  his 
first  sermon  as  a  young  abbate,  after  which  he 
found  in  the  offertory  bag,  in  addition  to  the  usual 
collection,  a  number  of  love  letters ;  of  his  doings 
as  a  fiddler  in  the  orchestra  of  the  San  Samueli 
Theatre;  of  the  pranks  which  he  and  his  com- 
panions had  played  in  the  alleys,  taverns,  dancing 
halls,  and  gaming-houses  of  Venice  —  sometimes 
masked  and  sometimes  unmasked.  In  telling  the 
story  of  these  riotous  escaj)ades,  he  was  careful  to 
avoid  the  use  of  any  offensive  epithet.  He 
phrased  his  narrative  in  choice  imaginative  lan- 
guage, as  if  paying  due  regard  to  the  presence  of 
the  young  girls,  who,  like  their  elders,  including 
Marcolina,  listened  with  rapt  attention. 

[    154   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

The  hour  grew  late,  and  Amalia  sent  her 
daughters  to  bed.  They  all  kissed  Casanova  a 
tender  good-night,  Teresina  behaving  exactly  like 
her  sisters.  He  made  them  promise  that  they 
would  soon  come  with  their  father  and  mother  to 
visit  him  in  Venice.  When  they  had  gone,  he 
spoke  with  less  restraint,  but  continued  to  avoid 
any  unsuitable  innuendo  or  display  of  vanity. 
His  audience  might  have  imagined  themselves 
listening  to  the  story  of  a  Parsifal  rather  than  to 
that  of  a  Casanova,  the  dangerous  seducer  and 
half -savage  adventurer. 

He  told  them  of  the  fair  Unknown  who  had 
travelled  with  him  for  weeks  disguised  as  a  man 
in  officer's  uniform,  and  one  morning  had  sud- 
denly disappeared  from  his  side ;  of  the  daughter 
of  the  gentleman  cobbler  in  Madrid  who,  in  the 
intervals  between  their  embraces,  had  studiously 
endeavored  to  make  a  good  Catholic  of  him;  of 
Lia,  the  lovely  Jewess  of  Turin,  who  had  a  better 
seat  on  horseback  than  any  princess;  of  Manon 
Balletti,  sweet  and  innocent,  the  only  woman  he 
had  almost  married;  of  the  singer  whom  he  had 
hissed  in  Warsaw  because  of  her  bad  performance, 
whereupon  he  had  had  to  fight  a  duel  with  her 
lover.  General  Branitzky,  and  had  been  compelled 

[  1Ö6  ] 


CASANOVA    S       HOMECOMING 

to  flee  the  city;  of  the  wicked  woman  Charpil- 
lon,  who  had  made  such  an  abject  fool  of 
him  in  London;  of  the  night  when  he  crossed 
the  lagoons  to  Murano  on  the  way  to  his 
adored  nun,  the  night  when  he  nearly  lost  his  life 
in  a  storm;  of  Croce  the  gamester,  who,  after 
losing  a  fortime  at  Spa,  had  taken  a  tearful  fare- 
well of  Casanova  upon  the  high-road,  and  had  set 
off  on  his  way  to  St.  Petersburg,  just  as  he  was, 
wearing  silk  stockings  and  a  coat  of  apple-green 
satin,  and  carrying  nothing  but  a  w^alking  cane. 

He  told  of  actresses,  singers,  dressmakers, 
countesses,  dancers,  chambermaids;  of  gamblers, 
officers,  princes,  envoys,  financiers,  musicians,  and 
adventurers.  So  carried  away  was  he  by  the  re- 
discovered charm  of  his  oAvn  past,  so  completely 
did  the  triumph  of  these  splendid  though  irrecov- 
erable experiences  eclipse  the  consciousness  of  the 
shadows  that  encompassed  his  present,  that  he  was 
on  the  point  of  telling  the  story  of  a  pale  but 
pretty  girl  who  in  a  twilit  church  at  INIantua  had 
confided  her  love  troubles  to  him  —  absolutely 
forgetting  that  this  same  girl,  sixteen  years  older, 
now  sat  at  the  table  before  him  as  the  wife  of  his 
friend  Olivo  —  when  the  maid  came  in  to  say  that 
the  carriage  was  waiting. 

[    156   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

Instantly,  with  his  incomparable  talent  for  do- 
ing the  right  thing,  Casanova  rose  to  bid  adieu. 
He  again  pressed  Olivo,  who  was  too  much  af- 
fected to  speak,  to  bring  wife  and  children  to  visit 
him  in  Venice.  Having  embraced  his  friend,  he 
approached  Amalia  with  intent  to  embrace  her 
also,  but  she  held  out  her  hand  and  he  kissed  it 
affectionately. 

When  he  turned  to  Marcolina,  she  said:  "You 
ought  to  write  down  everything  you  told  us  this 
evening.  Chevalier,  and  a  great  deal  more,  just 
as  you  have  penned  the  story  of  your  flight  from 
The  Leads." 

"Do  you  really  mean  that,  Marcolina?"  he  en- 
quired, with  the  shyness  of  a  young  author. 

She  smiled  with  gentle  mockery,  saying:  "I 
fancy  such  a  book  might  prove  far  more  entertain- 
ing than  your  polemic  against  Voltaire." 

"Very  likely,"  he  thought.  "Perhaps  I  may 
follow  j'^our  advice  some  day.  If  so,  you,  Marco- 
lina, shall  be  the  theme  of  the  last  chapter." 

This  notion,  and  still  more  the  thought  that  the 
last  chapter  was  to  be  lived  through  that  very 
night,  made  his  face  light  up  so  strangely  that 
Marcolina,  who  had  given  him  her  hand  in  fare- 
well, drew  it  away  again  before  he  could  stoop  to 
[  157  ] 


CASANOVA    S       HOJMECOIVIING 

kiss  it.  Without  betraying  cither  disappointment 
or  anger,  Casanova  turned  to  depart,  after  signi- 
fying, with  one  of  those  simple  gestures  of  which 
he  Mas  a  master,  his  desire  that  no  one,  not  even 
Olivo,  should  follow  him. 

He  strode  rapidly  through  the  chestnut  avenue, 
handed  a  gold  piece  to  the  maid  who  had  brought 
his  valise  to  the  carriage,  took  his  seat  and  drove 
away. 

The  sky  was  overcast.  In  the  village,  lamps 
were  still  burning  in  some  of  the  cottages ;  but  by 
the  time  the  carriage  regained  the  open  road,  the 
only  light  piercing  the  darlaiess  was  supplied  by 
the  yellow  rays  of  the  lantern  dangling  from  the 
shaft.  Casanova  opened  the  valise,  took  out 
Lorenzi's  cloak,  flimg  it  over  his  shoulders,  and 
under  this  cover  rapidly  undressed.  He  packed 
the  discarded  clothing,  together  with  shoes  and 
stockings,  in  the  valise,  and  wrapped  himself  in 
the  cloak.     Then  he  called  to  the  coachman: 

"Stop,  we  must  drive  back!" 

The  coachnian  turned  heavily  in  his  seat. 

"I  have  left  some  of  my  papers  in  the  house. 
Don't  you  understand?    We  must  drive  back." 

When  the  coachman,  a  surly,  thin  greybeard, 
still  hesitated,  Casanova  said:    "Of  course  I  will 

[    158   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

pay  you  extra  for  your  trouble.  Here  you  are !" 
He  pressed  a  gold  piece  into  the  man's  hand. 

The  coachman  nodded,  muttered  something, 
gave  his  horse  a  needless  cut  with  the  whip,  and 
turned  the  carriage  round.  When  they  drove 
back  through  the  village,  all  the  houses  were  dark. 
A  little  farther  on,  the  coachman  was  about  to 
turn  into  the  by-road  leading  up  the  gentle  ascent 
to  Olivo's  house. 

"Halt !"  cried  Casanova.  "We  won't  drive  any 
nearer,  lest  we  should  wake  them  all  up.  Wait 
for  me  here  at  the  corner.  I  shall  be  back  in  a 
minute  or  two.  If  I  should  happen  to  keep  you 
longer,  you  shall  have  a  ducat  for  every  hour!" 

The  man  by  his  nod  seemed  to  show  he  under- 
stood what  was  afoot. 

Casanova  descended  and  made  quickly  past  the 
closed  door  and  along  the  wall  to  the  corner. 
Here  began  the  path  leading  through  the  vine- 
yards. It  still  led  along  the  wall.  Having 
walked  it  twice  by  daylight,  Casanova  had  no 
difficulty  in  the  dark.  Half  way  up  the  hill  came 
a  second  angle  in  the  wall.  Here  he  had  again 
to  turn  to  the  right,  across  soft  meadow-land,  and 
in  the  pitchy  night  had  to  feel  along  the  wall  until 
he  found  the  garden  door.     At  length  his  fingers 

[  159  ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOJMING 

recognized  the  change  from  smooth  stone  to  rough 
wood,  and  he  could  easily  make  out  the  frame- 
work of  the  narrow  door.  He  unlocked  it,  en- 
tered the  garden,  and  made  all  fast  again  behind 
him. 

Across  the  greensward  he  could  now  discern 
house  and  tower.  They  seemed  incredibly  far  off 
and  yet  incredibly  large.  He  stood  where  he  was 
for  a  while,  looking  around.  "V\^at  to  other  eyes 
would  have  been  impenetrable  darkness,  was  to 
him  no  more  than  deep  twilight.  The  gravel  path 
being  j^ainful  to  his  bare  feet,  he  walked  upon  the 
greensward,  where,  moreover,  his  footfall  made 
no  sound.  So  light  was  his  tread  that  he  felt  as 
if  soaring. 

"Has  my  mood  changed,"  he  thought,  "since 
those  days  when,  as  a  man  of  thirty,  I  sought  such 
adventures?  Do  I  not  now,  as  then,  feel  all  the 
ardors  of  desire  and  all  the  sap  of  youth  course 
through  my  veins?  Am  I  not,  as  of  old,  Casa- 
nova? Being  Casanova,  why  should  I  be  subject, 
as  others  are  subject,  to  the  pitiful  law  which  is 
called  age !" 

Growing  bolder,  he  asked  himself:  "Why  am 
I  creeping  in  disguise  to  Marcolina?  Is  not  Casa- 
nova a  better  man  than  Lorenzi,  even  though  he 

[    160   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

be  thirty  years  older?  Is  not  she  the  one  woman 
who  would  have  understood  the  incomprehensible? 
Was  it  needful  to  commit  this  lesser  rascality, 
and  to  mislead  another  man  into  the  commission 
of  a  greater  rascality?  Should  I  not,  with  a  little 
patience,  have  reached  the  same  goal?  Lorenzi 
would  in  any  case  have  gone  to-morrow,  whilst  I 
should  have  remained.  Five  days,  three  days, 
and  she  would  have  given  herself  to  me,  laiowing 
me  to  be  Casanova." 

He  stood  close  to  the  wall  of  the  house  beneath 
Marcolina's  window,  Mhich  was  still  closed.  His 
thoughts  ran  on:  "Is  it  too  late?  I  could  come 
back  to-morrow  or  the  next  day.  Could  begin  the 
work  of  seduction  —  in  honorable  fashion,  so  to 
speak.  To-night  would  be  but  a  foretaste  of  the 
future.  Marcolina  must  not  learn  that  I  have 
been  here  to-day  —  or  not  until  much  later. 


[    161    ] 


CHAPTER    TEN. 

MARCOLINA'S  window  was  still  closed. 
There  was  no  sign  from  within.  It 
wanted  a  few  minutes  to  midnight. 
Should  he  make  his  presence  loiown  in  any  way? 
By  tapping  gently  at  the  window?  Since  noth- 
ing of  this  sort  had  been  arranged,  it  might  arouse 
IMarcolina's  suspicions.  Better  wait.  It  could 
not  be  much  longer.  The  thought  that  she  might 
instantly  recognize  him,  might  detect  the  fraud 
before  he  had  achieved  his  purpose,  crossed  his 
mind  —  not  for  the  first  time,  yet  as  a  passing 
fancy,  as  a  remote  possibility  which  it  was  logical 
to  take  into  account,  but  not  anything  to  be 
seriously  dreaded. 

A  ludicrous  adventure  now  recurred  to  his 
mind.  Twenty  years  ago  he  had  spent  a  night 
with  a  middle-aged  ugly  vixen  in  Soleure,  when 
he  had  imagined  himself  to  be  possessing  a  beau- 
tiful young  woman  whom  he  adored.  He  re- 
called how  next  day,  in  a  shameless  letter,  she  had 
derided  him  for  the  mistake  that  she  had  so  greatly 

[    163   ] 


CASANOVAS       HOMECOMING 

desired  him  to  make  and  that  she  had  compassed 
with  such  infamous  cunning.  He  shuddered  at 
the  thought.  It  was  the  last  thing  he  would  have 
wished  to  think  of  just  now,  and  he  drove  the 
detestable  hnage  from  his  mind. 

It  must  be  midnight!  How  long  was  he  to 
stand  shivering  there  ?  Waiting  in  vain,  perhaps  ? 
Cheated,  after  all?  Two  thousand  ducats  for 
nothing.  Lorenzi  behind  the  curtain,  mocking  at 
the  fool  outside ! 

Involuntarily  he  gripped  the  hilt  of  the  sword 
he  carried  beneath  the  cloak,  pressed  to  his  naked 
body.  After  all,  with  a  fellow  like  Lorenzi  one 
must  be  prepared  for  any  tricks. 

At  that  instant  he  heard  a.  gentle  rattling,  and 
knew  it  was  made  by  the  grating  of  Marcolina's 
window  in  opening.  Then  both  wings  of  the 
window  were  dra^vn  back,  though  the  curtain  still 
veiled  the  interior.  Casanova  remained  motion- 
less for  a  few  seconds  more,  until  the  curtain  was 
pulled  aside  by  an  unseen  hand.  Taking  this  as 
a  sign,  he  swung  himself  over  the  sill  into  the 
room,  and  promptly  closed  window  and  grating 
behind  him.  The  curtain  had  fallen  across  his 
shoulders,  so  that  he  had  to  push  his  way  beneath 
it.     Now  he  would  have  been  in  absolute  darkness 

[    164   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

had  there  not  been  shining  from  the  depths  of  the 
distance,  incredibly  far  away,  as  if  awakened  by 
his  own  gaze,  the  faintest  possible  illumination  to 
show  him  the  way.  No  more  than  three  paces 
forward,  and  eager  arms  enfolded  him.  Letting 
the  sword  slip  from  his  hand,  the  cloak  from  his 
shoulders,  he  gave  himself  up  to  his  bliss. 

From  Marcolina's  sigh  of  surrender,  from  the 
tears  of  happiness  which  he  kissed  from  her  cheeks, 
from  the  ever-renewed  warmth  with  which  she 
received  his  caresses,  he  felt  sure  that  she  shared 
his  rapture ;  and  to  him  this  rapture  seemed  more 
intense  than  he  had  ever  experienced,  seemed  to 
possess  a  new  and  strange  quality.  Pleasure  be- 
came worship;  passion  was  transfused  with  an 
intense  consciousness.  Here  at  last  was  the  real- 
ity which  he  had  often  falsely  imagined  himself 
to  be  on  the  point  of  attaining,  and  which  had 
always  eluded  his  grasp.  He  held  in  his  arms  a 
woman  upon  whom  he  could  squander  himself, 
with  whom  he  could  feel  himself  inexhaustible; 
the  woman  upon  Whose  breast  the  moment  of  ulti- 
mate self-abandonment  and  of  renewed  desire 
seemed  to  coalesce  into  a  single  instant  of  hitherto 
unimagined  spiritual  ecstasy.  Were  not  life  and 
death,  time  and  eternity,  one  upon  these  lips? 

[    165   ] 


CASANOVA    S       HOMECOMING 

Was  he  not  a  god?  Were  not  youth  and  age 
merely  a  fable;  visions  of  men's  fancy?  Were 
not  home  and  exile,  splendor  and  miserj^  reno\vn 
and  oblivion,  senseless  distinctions,  fit  only  for  the 
use  of  the  uneasj^  the  lonely,  the  frustrate;  had 
not  the  words  become  unmeaning  to  one  who  was 
Casanova,  and  who  had  found  Marcolina? 

More  contemptible,  more  absurd,  as  the  minutes 
passed,  seemed  to  him  the  prospect  of  keeping  the 
resolution  which  he  had  made  when  still  pusillani- 
mous, of  acting  on  the  determination  to  flee  out 
of  this  night  of  miracle  dumbly,  unrecognized, 
like  a  thief.  With  the  infallible  conviction  that 
he  must  be  the  bringer  of  delight  even  as  he  was 
the  receiver  of  delight,  he  felt  prepared  for  the 
venture  of  disclosing  his  name,  even  though  he 
knew  all  the  time  that  he  would  thus  play  for  a 
great  stake,  the  loss  of  which  would  involve  the 
loss  of  his  very  existence.  He  was  still  shrouded 
in  impenetrable  darkness,  and  until  the  first  glim- 
mer of  da'vvn  made  its  way  through  the  thick  cur- 
tain, he  could  postpone  a  confession  upon  w^hose 
favorable  acceptance  by  Marcolina  his  fate,  nay 
his  life,  depended. 

Besides,  was  not  this  mute,  passionately  sweet 
association  the  very  thing  to  bind  INIarcolina  to 

[  166  ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

him  more  firmly  with  each  liiss  that  they  enjoyed? 
Would  not  the  ineffable  bliss  of  this  night  trans- 
mute into  truth  what  had  been  conceived  in  false- 
hood? His  duped  mistress,  woman  of  women, 
had  she  not  already  an  inkling  that  it  was  not 
Lorenzi,  the  strij)ling,  but  Casanova,  the  man, 
with  whom  she  was  mingling  in  these  divine 
ardors  ? 

He  began  to  deem  it  possible  that  he  might  be 
spared  the  so  greatly  desired  and  yet  so  intensely 
dreaded  moment  of  revelation.  He  fancied  that 
Marcolina,  thrilling,  entranced,  transfigtired, 
would  sj)ontaneously  whisper  his  name.  Then, 
when  she  had  forgiven  him,  he  would  take  her  with 
him  that  very  hour.  Together  they  would  leave 
the  house  in  the  grey  dawn ;  together  they  would 
seek  the  carriage  that  was  waiting  at  the  turn  of 
the  road ;  together  they  would  drive  away.  She 
would  be  his  for  evermore.  This  would  be  the 
crown  of  his  life ;  that  at  an  age  when  others  were 
doomed  to  a  sad  senility,  he,  by  the  overwhelming 
might  of  his  unconquerable  personality,  would 
have  won  for  himself  the  youngest,  the  most  beau- 
tiful, the  most  gifted  of  women. 

For  this  woman  was  his  as  no  woman  had  ever 
been  before.      He  glided  with  her  through  mys- 

[    167   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

terious,  narrow  canals,  between  palaces  in  whose 
shadows  he  was  once  more  at  home,  under  high- 
arched  bridges  which  blurred  figures  were  swiftly 
crossing.  JNIanj^  of  the  wayfarers  glanced  do^vn 
for  a  moment  over  the  parapet,  and  vanished  ere 
their  faces  could  be  discerned. 

Now  the  gondola  drew  alongside.  A  marble 
stairway  led  up  to  the  stately  mansion  of  Senator 
Bragadino.  It  was  the  only  palace  holding  fes- 
tival. Masked  guests  were  ascending  and  de- 
scending. Many  of  them  paused  with  inquisitive 
glances;  but  mIio  could  recognize  Casanova  and 
JNIarcolina  in  their  dominoes  ? 

He  entered  the  hall  with  her.  Here  was  a  great 
company  playing  for  high  stakes.  All  the  sen- 
ators, Bragadino  among  them,  were  seated  round 
the  table  in  their  purple  robes.  As  Casanova 
came  through  the  door,  they  whispered  his  name 
as  if  terror-stricken,  for  the  flashing  of  his  eyes 
behind  the  mask  had  disclosed  his  identity.  He 
did  not  sit  down ;  he  did  not  take  any  cards,  and 
yet  he  joined  in  the  game.  He  won.  He  won 
all  the  gold  on  the  table,  and  this  did  not  suffice. 
The  senators  had  to  give  him  notes  of  hand. 
They  lost  their  possessions,  their  palaces,  their 
purple  robes;   they  were  beggars;    they  crawled 

[    168   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

round    him    clad    in    rags,    kissing    his    hands. 

Nearby,  in  a  hall  with  crimson  hangings,  there 
was  music  and  dancing.  Casanova  wished  to 
dance  with  Marcolina,  but  she  had  vanished. 
Once  again  the  senators  in  their  purple  robes  were 
seated  at  the  table ;  but  now  Casanova  knew  that 
the  hazards  at  stake  were  not  those  of  a  game  of 
cards ;  he  knew  that  the  destinies  of  accused  per- 
sons, some  criminal  and  some  innocent,  hung  in 
the  balance. 

What  had  become  of  ]Marcolina?  Had  he  not 
been  holding  her  by  the  hand  all  the  time?  He 
rushed  down  the  staircase.  The  gondola  was 
waiting.  On,  on,  through  the  maze  of  canals. 
Of  course  the  gondolier  knew  where  Älarcolina 
was;  but  why  was  he,  too,  masked?  That  had 
not  been  the  custom  of  old  in  Venice.  Casanova 
wished  to  question  him,  but  was  afraid.  Does  a 
man  become  so  cowardly  when  he  grows  old? 

Onward,  ever  onward.  How  huge  Venice  had 
gro-wn  during  these  five-and-twenty  years!  At 
length  the  houses  came  to  an  end;  the  canal 
opened  out;  they  were  passing  between  islands; 
there  stood  the  walls  of  the  Murano  nunnery,  to 
which  Marcolina  had  fled. 

There  was  no  gondola  now;  he  had  to  swim; 
[  169  ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

how  delightful!  It  was  true  that  in  Venice  the 
children  were  playing  with  his  gold  j)ieces.  But 
what  was  money  to  him?  The  water  was  now 
warm,  now  cold;  it  dripped  from  his  clothing  as 
he  climbed  over  the  wall. 

"Where  is  Marcolina?"  he  enquired  in  the  par- 
lor, in  loud,  challenging  tones  such  as  only  a 
prince  would  dare  to  use. 

"I  will  sunmion  her,"  said  the  Lady  Abbess, 
and  sank  into  the  ground. 

Casanova  wandered  about;  he  had  wings;  he 
fluttered  to  and  fro  along  the  gratings,  fluttered 
like  a  bat.  "If  I  had  only  known  sooner  that  I 
can  fly,"  he  thought.      "I  will  teach  Marcolina." 

Behind  the  gratmgs,  the  figures  of  women  were 
moving  hither  and  thither.  They  were  nuns  — 
and  yet  they  were  all  wearing  secular  dress.  He 
knew  it,  though  he  could  not  really  see  them. 
He  knew  who  they  were.  Henriette  the  Un- 
known; Corticelli  and  Cristina,  the  dancers;  the 
bride;  Dubois  the  Beautiful;  the  accurst  vixen 
of  Soleure;  Manon  Balletti;  a  hundred  others  — 
but  never  Marcolina! 

"You  have  betrayed  me,"  he  cried  to  the  gondo- 
lier, who  was  waiting  for  him  beneath.  Never 
had  he  hated  anyone  as  he  hated  this  gondolier, 

[  170  ] 


CASANOVA    S       HOMECOMING 

and    he    swore    to    take    an    exquisite    revenge. 

But  how  foolish  he  had  been  to  seek  Marcolina 
in  the  Murano  nunnery  when  she  had  gone  to 
visit  Voltaire.  It  was  fortunate  that  he  could 
fly,  since  he  had  no  money  left  with  which  to  pay 
for  a  carriage. 

He  swam  away.  But  he  was  no  longer  enjoy- 
ing himself.  The  water  grew  colder  and  colder ; 
he  was  drifting  out  into  the  open  sea,  far  from 
Murano,  far  from  Venice,  and  there  was  no  ship 
within  sight;  his  heavy  gold-embroidered  gar- 
ments were  dragging  him  do^vn ;  he  tried  to  strip 
them  off,  but  it  was  impossible,  for  he  was  holding 
his  manuscript,  the  manuscript  he  had  to  give  to 
M.  Voltaire.  The  water  was  pouring  into  his 
mouth  and  nose;  deadly  fear  seized  him;  he 
clutched  at  impalpable  things;  there  was  a  rat- 
tling in  his  throat ;  he  screamed ;  and  with  a  great 
effort  he  opened  his  eyes. 

Between  the  curtain  and  the  window-frame  the 
dawn  was  making  its  way  through  in  a  narrow 
strip  of  light.  IVIarcolina,  in  her  white  nightdress 
and  with  hands  crossed  upon  her  bosom,  was 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  contemplating 
Casanova  with  unutterable  horror.  Her  glance 
instantly  recalled  him  to  his  senses.    Involuntarily 

[    171    ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

he  stretched  out  his  arms  towards  her  with  a  ges- 
ture of  appeal.  Älarcolina,  as  if  rejecting  this 
appeal,  waved  him  away  with  her  left  hand,  while 
with  the  right  she  continued  to  grasp  her  raiment 
convulsivel}^  Casanova  sat  up,  his  eyes  riveted 
upon  her.  Neither  was  able  to  look  away  from 
the  other.  His  expression  was  one  of  rage  and 
shame ;  hers  was  one  of  shame  and  disgust.  Casa- 
nova knew  how  she  saw  him,  for  he  saw  himself 
figured  in  imagination,  just  as  he  had  seen  him- 
self yesterday  in  the  bedroom  mirror.  A  yellow, 
evil  face,  deeply  lined,  with  thin  lips  and  staring 
eyes  —  a  face  three  times  worse  than  that  of  yes- 
terday, because  of  the  excesses  of  the  night,  the 
ghastly  dream  of  the  morning,  and  the  terrible 
awakening.  And  what  he  read  in  Marcolina's 
countenance  was  not  what  he  would  a  thousand 
times  rather  have  read  there;  it  was  not  thief, 
libertine,  villain.  He  read  only  something  which 
crushed  him  to  earth  more  ignominiously  than 
could  any  terms  of  abuse ;  he  read  the  word  which 
to  him  was  the  most  dreadful  of  all  words,  since 
it  passed  a  final  judgment  upon  him  —  old  man. 
Had  it  been  within  his  power  to  annihilate  him- 
self by  a  spell,  he  would  have  done  so,  that  he 
might  be  spared  from  having  to  creep  out  of  the 

[    172   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

bed  and  display  himself  to  JMarcolina  in  his  naked- 
ness, which  must  appear  to  her  more  loathsome 
than  the  sight  of  some  loathsome  beast. 

But  Marcolina,  as  if  gradually  collecting  her- 
self, and  manifestly  in  order  to  give  him  the  op- 
portunity which  was  indispensable,  turned  her 
face  to  the  wall.  He  seized  the  moment  to  get 
out  of  bed,  to  raise  the  cloak  from  the  floor,  and  to 
Vv'rap  himself  in  it.  He  was  quick,  too,  to  make 
sure  of  his  sword.  Now,  when  he  conceived  him- 
self to  have  at  least  escaped  the  worst  contumely 
of  all,  that  of  ludicrousness,  he  began  to  wonder 
\^'hether  it  would  not  be  possible  to  throw  another 
light  upon  this  affair  in  which  he  cut  so  pitiful  a 
figure.  He  was  an  adept  in  the  use  of  language. 
Could  he  not  somehow  or  other,  by  a  few  well- 
chosen  words,  give  matters  a  favorable  turn? 

From  the  nature  of  the  circumstances,  it  was 
evidently  impossible  for  Marcolina  to  doubt  that 
Lorenzi  had  sold  her  to  Casanova.  Yet  however 
intensely  she  might  hate  her  wretched  lover  at 
that  moment,  Casanova  felt  that  he  himself,  the 
cowardly  thief,  must  seem  a  thousand  times  more 
hateful. 

Perhaps  another  course  offered  better  promise 
of  satisfaction.     He  might  degrade  Marcolina  by 

[    173   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

mockery  and  lascivious  phrases,  full  of  imiuendo. 
But  this  spiteful  idea  could  not  be  sustained  m 
face  of  the  aspect  she  had  now  assumed.  Her 
expression  of  horror  had  gradually  been  trans- 
formed into  one  of  infinite  sadness,  as  if  it  had 
been  not  Marcolina's  womanliood  alone  which  had 
been  desecrated  by  Casanova,  but  as  if  during  the 
night  that  had  just  closed  a  nameless  and  inex- 
piable offence  had  been  committed  by  cunning 
against  trust,  by  lust  against  love,  by  age  against 
youth.  Beneath  this  gaze  which,  to  Casanova's 
extremest  torment,  reawakened  for  a  brief  space 
all  that  was  still  good  in  him,  he  turned  away. 
Without  looking  round  at  Marcolina,  he  went  to 
the  window,  drew  the  curtain  aside,  opened  case- 
ment and  grating,  cast  a  glance  round  the  garden 
which  still  seemed  to  slumber  in  the  twilight,  and 
swung  himself  across  the  sill  into  the  oi)en. 

Aware  of  the  possibility  that  someone  in  the 
house  might  already  be  awake  and  might  spy  him 
from  a  window,  he  avoided  the  greensward  and 
sought  cover  in  the  shaded  alley.  Passing 
through  the  door  in  the  wall,  he  had  hardly  closed 
it  behind  him,  when  someone  blocked  his  path. 
"The  gondolier!"  was  his  first  idea.  For  now  he 
suddenly  realized  that  the  gondolier  in  his  dream 

[    174   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

had  been  Lorenzi.  The  young  officer  stood  be- 
fore him.  His  silver-braided  scarlet  tunic  glowed 
in  the  morning  light. 

"What  a  splendid  uniform,"  was  the  thought 
that  crossed  Casanova's  confused,  weary  brain. 
"It  looks  quite  new.  I  am  sure  it  has  not  been 
paid  for."  These  trivial  reflections  helped  him 
to  the  full  recovery  of  his  wits ;  and  as  soon  as  he 
realized  the  situation,  his  mind  was  filled  with 
gladness.  Drawing  himself  up  proudly,  and 
grasping  the  hilt  of  his  sword  firmly  beneath  the 
cloak,  he  said  in  a  tone  of  the  utmost  amiability: 
"Does  it  not  seem  to  you.  Lieutenant  Lorenzi, 
that  this  notion  of  yours  has  come  a  thought  too 
late?" 

"By  no  means,"  answered  Lorenzi,  looking 
handsomer  than  any  man  Casanova  had  ever  seen 
before.  "Only  one  of  us  two  shall  leave  the  place 
alive." 

"What  a  hurry  you  are  in,  Lorenzi,"  said  Casa- 
nova in  an  almost  tender  tone.  "Cannot  the 
affair  rest  until  we  reach  Mantua?  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  give  you  a  lift  in  my  carriage,  which 
is  waiting  at  the  turn  of  the  road.  There  is  a 
great  deal  to  be  said  for  observing  the  forms  in 
these  matters,  especially  in  such  a  case  as  ours." 

[   175   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

"No  forms  are  needed.  You  or  I,  Casanova, 
at  this  very  hour."     He  drew  his  sword. 

Casanova  shrugged.  "Just  as  you  please, 
Lorenzi.  But  j^ou  might  at  least  remember  that 
I  shall  be  reluctantly  compelled  to  appear  in  a 
very  inappropriate  costume."  He  threw  oj)en 
the  cloak  and  stood  there  nude,  playing  with  the 
sword  in  his  hand. 

Hate  welled  up  in  Lorenzi's  eyes.  "You  shall 
not  be  at  any  disadvantage,"  he  said,  and  began 
to  strip  with  all  possible  speed. 

Casanova  turned  away,  and  for  the  moment 
wrapped  himself  in  his  cloak  once  more,  for 
though  the  sun  was  already  piercing  the  morning 
mists,  the  air  was  chill.  Long  shadows  lay  across 
the  fields,  cast  by  the  sparse  trees  on  the  hill-top. 
For  an  instant  Casanova  wondered  whether  some- 
one might  not  come  down  the  path.  Doubtless  it 
was  used  only  by  Olivo  and  the  members  of  his 
household.  It  occurred  to  Casanova  that  these 
were  perhaps  the  last  minutes  of  his  life,  and  he 
was  amazed  at  his  ow^n  calmness. 

"M.  Voltaire  is  a  lucky  fellow,"  came  as  a  pass- 
ing thought.  But  in  truth  he  had  no  interest  in 
Voltaire,  and  he  w^ould  have  been  glad  at  this 
supreme  moment  to  have  been  able  to  call  up 

[    176   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

pleasanter  images  than  that  of  the  old  author's 
vulturine  physiognomy.  How  strange  it  was 
that  no  birds  were  piping  in  the  trees  over  the 
wall.  A  change  of  weather  must  be  imminent. 
But  what  did  the  weather  matter  to  hmi?  He 
would  rather  think  of  Marcolina,  of  the  ecstasy 
he  had  enjoyed  in  her  arms,  and  for  which  he  was 
now  to  pay  dear.  Dear?  Cheap  enough!  A 
few  years  of  an  old  man's  life  in  penury  and  ob- 
scurity. What  was  there  left  for  him  to  do  in 
the  world?  To  poison  Bragadino?  Was  it  worth 
the  trouble?  Nothing  was  worth  the  trouble. 
How  few  trees  there  were  on  the  hill !  He  began 
to  count  them.  "Five  .  .  .  seven  .  .  .  ten. — 
Have  I  nothing  better  to  do?" 

"I  am  ready,  Casanova." 

Casanova  turned  smartly.  Lorenzi  stood  be- 
fore him,  splendid  in  his  nakedness  like  a  young 
god.  No  trace  of  meanness  lingered  in  his  face. 
He  seemed  equally  ready  to  kill  or  to  die. 

"What  if  I  were  to  throw  away  my  sword?" 
thought  Casanova.  "What  if  I  were  to  embrace 
him?"  He  slipped  the  cloak  from  his  shoulders 
and  stood  like  Lorenzi,  lean  and  naked. 

Lorenzi  lowered  his  point  in  salute,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  rules  of  fence.     Casanova  returned 

[  177  ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

the  salute.  Next  moment  they  crossed  blades, 
and  the  steel  glittered  like  silver  in  the  sun. 

"How  long  is  it,"  thought  Casanova,  "since  last 
I  stood  thus  measuring  sword  with  sw^ord?"  But 
none  of  his  serious  duels  now  recurred  to  his  mind. 
He  could  think  only  of  practice  with  the  foils, 
such  as  ten  years  earlier  he  used  to  have  every 
morning  with  his  valet  Costa,  the  rascal  who  after- 
wards bolted  with  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
lire.  "All  the  same,  he  was  a  fine  fencer ;  nor  has 
my  hand  forgotten  its  cunning!      My  arm  is  as 

true,  my  vision  as  keen,  as  ever Youth 

and  age  are  fables.  Am  I  not  a  god?  Are  we  not 
both  gods?  If  anyone  could  see  us  now.  There 
are  women  who  ^vould  pay  a  high  price  for  the 
spectacle !" 

The  blades  bent,  the  points  sparkled;  at  each 
contact  the  rapiers  sang  softly  in  the  morning  air. 
"A  fight?  No,  a  fencing  match !  Why  this  look 
of  horror,  Marcolina?  Are  we  not  both  worthy 
of  your  love?  He  is  but  a  youngster;  I  am 
Casanova !" 

Lorenzi  sank  to  the  ground,  thrust  through  the 
heart.  The  sword  fell  from  his  grip.  He  opened 
his  eyes  wide,  as  if  in  utter  astonishment.  Once 
he  raised  his  head  for  a  moment,  while  his  lips 

[    178   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

were  fixed  in  a  wry  smile.  Then  the  head  fell 
back  again,  his  nostrils  dilated,  there  was  a  slight 
rattling  in  his  throat,  and  he  was  dead. 

Casanova  bent  over  him,  laieeled  beside  the 
body,  saw  a  few  drops  of  blood  ooze  from  the 
wound,  held  his  hand  in  front  of  Lorenzi's  mouth 
• —  but  the  breath  was  stilled.  A  cold  shiver 
passed  through  Casanova's  frame.  He  rose  and 
put  on  his  cloak.  Then,  returning  to  the  body, 
he  glanced  at  the  fallen  youth,  lying  stark  on  the 
turf  in  incomparable  beauty.  The  silence  was 
broken  by  a  soft  rustling,  as  the  morning  breeze 
stirred  the  tree-tops. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  Casanova  asked  himself. 
"Shall  I  summon  aid?  Olivo?  Amalia?  Mar- 
colina?  To  what  purpose?  No  one  can  bring 
him  back  to  life." 

He  pondered  with  the  calmness  invariable  to 
him  in  the  most  dangerous  moments  of  his  career. 
"It  may  be  hours  before  anyone  finds  him;  per- 
haps no  one  will  come  by  before  evening;  per- 
chance later  still.  That  will  give  me  time,  and 
time  is  of  the  first  importance." 

He  was  still  holding  his  sword.  Noticing  that 
it  was  bloody,  he  wiped  it  on  the  grass.  He 
thought  for  a  moment  of  dressing  the  corpse,  but 

[    179   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

to  do  this  would  have  involved  the  loss  of  precious 
and  irrecoverable  minutes.  Paying  the  last 
duties,  he  bent  once  more  and  closed  Lorenzi's 
eyes.  "Lucky  fellow,"  he  nmrnmred;  and  then, 
dreamilj^  he  kissed  the  dead  man's  forehead. 

He  strode  along  beside  the  wall,  turned  the 
angle,  and  regained  the  road.  The  carriage  was 
where  he  had  left  it,  the  coachman  fast  asleep  on 
the  box.  Casanova  was  careful  to  avoid  waking 
the  man  at  first.  Not  until  he  had  cautiously 
taken  his  seat  did  he  call  out:  "Hullo,  drive  on, 
can't  3^ou?"  and  prodded  him  in  the  back.  The 
startled  coachman  looked  round,  greatly  aston- 
ished to  find  that  it  was  broad  daylight.  Then  he 
whipped  up  his  horse  and  drove  off. 

Casanova  sat  far  back  in  the  carriage,  wrapped 
in  the  cloak  which  had  once  belonged  to  Lorenzi. 
In  the  village  a  few  children  were  to  be  seen  in 
the  streets,  but  it  was  plain  that  the  elders  were 
already  at  work  in  the  fields.  When  the  houses 
had  been  left  behind  Casanova  drew  a  long  breath. 
Opening  the  valise,  he  withdrew  his  clothes,  and 
dressed  beneath  the  cover  of  the  cloak,  somewhat 
concerned  lest  the  coachman  should  turn  and  dis- 
cover his  fare's  strange  behavior.  But  nothing 
of  the  sort  happened.       Unmolested,  Casanova 

[    180   ] 


Casanova's     homecoming 

was  able  to  finish  dressing,  to  pack  away  Lorenzi's 
cloak,  and  resume  his  o^vn. 

Glancing    skyward,    Casanova    saw    that    the 
heavens  were  overcast.       He  had  no  sense  of 
fatigue,  but  felt  tense  and  wakeful.     He  thought 
over  his  situation,  considering  it  from  every  pos- 
sible point  of  view,  and  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that,  though  grave,  it  was  less  alarming  than  it 
might  have  seemed  to  timid  spirits.      He  would 
probably  be  suspected  of  having  killed  Lorenzi, 
but  who  could  doubt  that  it  had  been  in  an  honor- 
able fight?      Besides,  Lorenzi  had  been  lying  in 
wait,  had  forced  the  encounter  upon  him,  and  no 
one  could  consider  him  a  criminal   for  having 
fought  in  self-defence.     Eut  why  had  he  left  the 
body  lying  on  the  grass  like  that  of  a  dead  dog? 
Well,  nobody  could  reproach  him  on  that  account. 
To  flee  away  swiftly  had  been  well  within  his 
right,  had  been  almost  a  duty.       In  his  i^lace, 
Lorenzi  would  have  done  the  same.     But  perhaps 
Venice  would  hand  him  over?      Directly  he  ar- 
rived, he  would  claim  the  protection  of  his  patron 
Bragadino.     Yet  this  might  involve  his  accusing 
himself  of  a  deed  which  would  after  all  remain 
undiscovered,  or  at  any  rate  would  perhaps  never 
be  laid  to  his  charge.       What  proof  was  there 

[    181    ] 


CASANOVA    S      H  O  M  E  C  O  AI  I  N  G 

against  him?  Had  he  not  been  summoned  to 
Venice?  Who  could  say  that  he  went  thither  as 
a  fugitive  from  justice?  The  coachman  maybe, 
who  had  waited  for  him  half  the  night.  One  or 
two  additional  gold  pieces  would  stoj)  the  fellow's 
mouth. 

Thus  his  thoughts  ran  in  a  circle.  Suddenly  he 
fancied  he  heard  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  from 
the  road  behind  him.  "Already?"  was  his  first 
thought.  He  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  carriage 
to  look  backwards.  All  was  clear.  The  carriage 
had  driven  past  a  farm,  and  the  sound  he  had 
heard  had  been  the  echo  of  his  own  horse's  hoofs. 
The  discovery  of  this  momentary  self-deception 
quieted  his  apx^rehensions  for  a  time,  so  that  it 
seemed  to  him  the  danger  was  over.  He  could 
now  see  the  towers  of  Mantua.  "Drive  on,  man, 
drive  on,"  he  said  under  his  breath,  for  he  did  not 
really  wish  the  coachman  to  hear.  The  coachman, 
nearing  the  goal,  had  given  the  horse  his  head. 
Soon  they  reached  the  gate  through  which  Casa- 
nova had  left  the  town  with  Olivo  less  than  forty- 
eight  hours  earlier.  He  told  the  coachman  the 
name  of  the  inn,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  carriage 
drew  up  at  the  sign  of  the  Golden  Lion. 

[    182   ] 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN. 

CASANOVA  leaped  from  the  carriage. 
The  hostess  stood  in  the  doorway.  She 
was  bright  and  smiling,  in  the  mood  ap- 
parently to  give  Casanova  the  warm  welcome  of 
a  lover  whose  absence  has  been  regretted  and 
whose  return  has  been  eagerlj'^  desired.  But 
Casanova  looked  warningly  towards  the  coach- 
man, implying  that  the  man  might  be  an  incon- 
venient witness,  and  then  told  him  to  eat  and 
drink  to  his  heart's  content. 

"A  letter  from  Venice  arrived  for  you  yester- 
day, Chevalier,"  announced  the  hostess. 

"Another?"  enquired  Casanova,  going  upstairs 
to  his  room. 

The  hostess  followed.  A  sealed  despatch  was 
lying  on  the  table.  Casanova  opened  it  in  great 
excitement.  He  was  anxious  lest  it  should  prove 
to  be  a  revocation  of  the  former  offer.  But  the 
missive  contained  no  more  than  a  few  lines  from 
Bragadino,  enclosing  a  draft  for  two  hundred  and 
fifty  lire,  in  order  that  Casanova,  should  he  have 

[    183   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

made  up  his  mind  to  accept,  might  instantly  set 
out  for  Venice. 

Turning  to  the  hostess,  Casanova  explained 
with  an  air  of  well-simulated  vexation  that  he  was 
unfortunately  comiDclled  to  continue  his  journey 
instantly.  Were  he  to  delay,  he  would  risk  losing 
the  post  which  his  friend  Bragadino  had  procured 
for  him  in  Venice,  a  post  for  which  there  were 
fully  a  hundred  applicants.  Threatening  clouds 
gathered  on  the  hostess'  face,  so  Casanova  was 
prompt  to  add  that  all  he  proposed  was  to  make 
sure  of  the  appointment  and  to  receive  his  patent 
as  secretary  to  the  Supreme  Council.  As  soon  as 
he  was  installed  in  office,  he  would  ask  permission 
to  return  to  IMantua,  that  he  might  arrange  his 
affairs.  Of  course  this  request  could  not  be  re- 
fused. He  was  going  to  leave  most  of  his  effects 
here.  When  he  returned,  it  would  only  depend 
upon  his  beloved  and  charming  friend  whether  she 
would  give  up  inn-keeping  and  accompany  him 
to  Venice  as  his  wife.  She  threw  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  and  with  brimming  eyes  asked  him 
whether  before  starting  he  would  not  at  least 
make  a  good  breakfast,  if  she  might  bring  it  up 
to  his  room.      He  knew  she  had  in  mind  to  pro- 

[    184   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

vide  a  farewell  feast,  and  though  he  felt  no  appe- 
tite for  it,  he  agreed  to  the  suggestion  simply  to 
be  rid  of  her. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  he  packed  his  bag  with 
such  underclothing  and  books  as  he  urgently 
needed.  Then,  making  his  way  to  the  parlor, 
where  the  coachman  was  enjoying  a  generous 
meal,  he  asked  the  man  whether,  for  a  sum  which 
was  more  than  double  the  usual  fare,  he  would 
with  the  same  horse  drive  along  the  Venice  road 
as  far  as  the  next  posting  station.  The  coachman 
agreed  without  demur,  thus  relieving  Casanova 
of  his  principal  anxiety  for  the  time. 

Now  the  hostess  entered,  flushed  with  annoy- 
ance, to  ask  whether  he  had  forgotten  that  his 
breakfast  was  awaiting  him  in  his  room.  Casa- 
nova nonchalantly  replied  that  he  had  not  for- 
gotten for  a  moment,  and  begged  her,  since  he  was 
short  of  time,  to  take  his  draft  to  the  bank,  and  to 
bring  back  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  lire.  While 
she  was  hastening  to  fetch  the  money,  Casanova 
returned  to  his  room,  and  began  to  eat  with  wolf- 
ish voracity.  He  continued  his  meal  when  the 
hostess  came  back;  stopping  merely  for  an  in- 
stant to  pocket  the  money  she  brought  him. 

When  he  had  finished  eating,  he  turned  to  the 

[    185   ] 


CASANOVA    S       H  O  M  E  C  O  IM  I  N  G 

woman.  Thinking  that  her  hour  had  at  length 
come,  she  had  drawn  near,  and  was  pressing  up 
against  him  in  a  manner  which  could  not  be  mis- 
understood. He  clasped  her  somewhat  roughly, 
kissed  her  on  both  cheeks,  and,  although  she  was 
obviously  read}^  to  grant  him  the  last  favors  then 
and  there,  exclaimed:  "I  must  be  off.  Till  our 
next  meeting!"  He  tore  himself  away  with  such 
violence  that  she  fell  back  on  to  the  corner  of  the 
couch.  Her  expression,  with  its  mingling  of  dis- 
appointment, rage,  and  impotence,  was  so  irre- 
sistibly funny  that  Casanova,  as  he  closed  the  door 
behind  him,  burst  out  laughing. 

The  coachman  could  not  fail  to  realize  that  his 
fare  was  in  a  hurry,  but  it  was  not  his  business  to 
ask  questions.  He  sat  ready  on  the  box  when 
Casanova  came  out  of  the  inn,  and  whipped  up  the 
horse  the  very  moment  the  passenger  was  seated. 
On  his  own  initiative  he  decided  not  to  drive 
through  the  to^vn,  but  to  skirt  it,  and  to  rejoin  the 
posting  road  upon  the  other  side.  The  sun  was 
not  yet  high,  for  it  was  only  nine  o'clock.  Casa- 
nova reflected:  "It  is  likely  enough  that  Lorenzi's 
body  has  not  been  found  yet."  He  hardly 
troubled  to  think  that  he  himself  had  killed 
Lorenzi.      All  he  knew  was  that  he  was  glad  to 

[    186   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

be  leaving  Mantua  farther  and  farther  behind, 
and  glad  to  have  rest  at  last. 

He  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  the  deepest  he  had 
ever  known.  It  lasted  practically  two  days  and 
two  nights.  The  brief  interruptions  to  his  slum- 
bers necessitated  by  the  change  of  horses  from 
time  to  time,  and  the  interruptions  that  occurred 
when  he  was  sitting  in  inns,  or  walking  up  and 
do^vn  in  front  of  posting  stations,  or  exchanging 
a  few  casual  words  with  postmasters,  innkeepers, 
customhouse  officers,  and  travellers,  did  not  linger 
in  his  memory  as  individual  details.  Thus  it  came 
to  pass  that  the  remembrance  of  these  two  days 
and  nights  merged  as  it  were  into  the  dream  he 
had  dreamed  in  Marcolina's  bed.  Even  the  duel 
between  the  two  naked  men  upon  the  green  turf 
in  the  early  sunshine  seemed  somehow  to  belong 
to  this  dream,  wherein  often  enough,  in  enigmatic 
fashion,  he  was  not  Casanova  but  Lorenzi;  not 
the  victor  but  the  vanquished;  not  the  fugitive, 
but  the  slain  round  whose  pale  young  body  the 
lonely  wind  of  morning  played.  Neither  he  nor 
Lorenzi  was  any  more  real  than  were  the  senators 
in  the  purple  robes  who  had  knelt  before  him  like 
beggars ;  nor  any  less  real  than  such  as  that  old 
fellow  leaning  against  the  parapet  of  a  bridge,  to 

[    187   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

whom  at  nightfall  he  had  thrown  alms  from  the 
carriage.  Had  not  Casanova  bent  his  powers  of 
reason  to  the  task  of  distinguishing  between  real 
experiences  and  dream  experiences,  he  might  well 
have  miagined  that  in  Marcolina's  arms  he  had 
fallen  into  a  mad  dream  from  which  he  did  not 
awaken  mitil  he  caught  sight  of  the  Campanile  of 
Venice. 


[  188  ] 


CHAPTER   TWELVE. 

IT  was  on  the  third  morning  of  his  journey 
that  Casanova,  having  reached  Mestre, 
sighted  once  more  the  bell  tower  after  over 
twenty  years  of  longing  —  a  pillar  of  grey  stone 
looming  distantly  in  the  twilight.  It  was  but  two 
leagues  now  to  the  beloved  city  in  which  he  had 
been  young.  He  paid  the  driver  without  remem- 
bering whether  this  was  the  fifth  or  the  sixth  with 
whom  he  had  had  to  settle  since  quitting  Mantua, 
and,  followed  by  a  lad  carrying  his  baggage, 
walked  through  the  mean  streets  to  the  harbor 
from  which  to-day,  just  as  five-and- twenty  years 
earlier,  the  boat  was  to  leave  for  Venice  at  six  in 
the  morning. 

The  vessel  seemed  to  have  been  waiting  for  him; 
hardly  had  he  seated  himself  upon  a  narrow  bench, 
among  petty  traders,  manual  workers,  and  women 
bringing  their  wares  to  market,  when  she  cast  off. 
It  was  a  cloudy  morning;  mist  was  rolling  across 
the  lagoons;  there  was  a  smell  of  bilge-water, 
damp  wood,  fish,  and  fruit.      The  Campanile 

[   189   ] 


CASANOVAS      HOMECOMING 

grew  ever  higher;  additional  towers  appeared; 
cupolas  became  visible.  The  light  of  the  morn- 
ing sun  was  reflected  from  one  roof,  from  two, 
from  many.  Individual  houses  were  distinguish- 
able, growing  larger  by  degrees.  Boats,  great 
and  small,  showed  through  the  mist;  greetings 
were  shouted  from  vessel  to  vessel.  The  chatter 
around  him  grew  louder.  A  little  girl  offered 
him  some  grapes  for  sale.  Munching  the  purple 
berries,  he  spat  the  skins  over  the  side  after  the 
manner  of  his  countrymen.  He  entered  into 
friendly  talk  with  someone  who  expressed  satis- 
faction that  the  weather  seemed  to  be  clearing 
at  last. 

"What,  has  it  been  raining  here  for  three  days? 
That  is  news  to  me.  I  come  from  the  south,  from 
Naples  and  Rome." 

The  boat  had  entered  the  canals  of  the  suburbs. 
Sordid  houses  stared  at  him  with  dirty  windows, 
as  if  with  vacant,  hostile  eyes.  Twice  or  thrice 
the  vessel  stopped  at  a  quay,  and  passengers  came 
aboard ;  young  fellows,  one  of  whom  had  a  great 
portfolio  under  his  arm ;  women  with  baskets. 

Here,  at  last,  was  familiar  ground.  Was  not 
that  the  church  where  Martina  used  to  go  to  con- 
fession?    Was  not  that  the  house  in  which,  after 

[  190  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

his  own  fashion,  he  had  restored  the  pallid  and 
dying  Agatha  to  ruddy  health?  Was  not  that 
the  place  in  which  he  had  dealt  with  the  charming 
Sylvia's  rascal  of  a  brother,  had  beaten  the  fellow 
black  and  blue?  Up  that  canal  to  the  right,  in 
the  small  yellow  house  upon  whose  splashed  steps 
the  fat,  bare-footed  w^oman  was  Standing  .... 

Before  he  had  fully  recaptured  the  distant 
memory  attaching  to  the  house  in  question,  the 
boat  had  entered  the  Grand  Canal,  and  was  pass- 
ing slowly  up  the  broad  waterway  with  palaces 
on  either  hand.  To  Casanova,  in  his  dreamy  re- 
flections, it  seemed  as  if  but  yesterday  he  had 
traversed  the  same  route. 

He  disembarked  at  the  Rialto  Bridge,  for,  be- 
fore visiting  Signor  Bragadino,  he  wished  to  make 
sure  of  a  room  in  a  modest  hostelry  nearby  —  he 
knew  where  it  was,  though  he  could  not  recall  the 
name.  The  place  seemed  more  decayed,  or  at 
least  more  neglected,  than  he  remembered  it  of 
old.  A  sulky  waiter,  badly  in  need  of  a  shave, 
showed  him  to  an  uninviting  room  looking  upon 
the  blind  wall  of  a  house  opposite.  Casanova  had 
no  time  to  lose.  Moreover,  since  he  had  spent 
nearly  all  his  cash  on  the  journey,  the  cheapness 
of  these  quarters  was  a  great  attraction.     He  de- 

[  191  ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

cided,  therefore,  to  make  his  lodging  there  for  the 
present.  Having  removed  the  stains  of  travel,  he 
deliberated  for  a  while  whether  to  put  on  his  finer 
suit;  then  decided  it  was  better  to  wear  the 
soberer  raiment,  and  walked  out  of  the  inn. 

It  was  but  a  hundred  paces,  along  a  narrow 
alley  and  across  a  bridge,  to  Bragadino's  small 
but  elegant  palace.  A  young  servingman  with 
a  rather  impudent  manner  took  in  Casanova's 
name  in  a  way  which  implied  that  its  celebrity 
had  no  meaning  for  him.  Returning  from  his 
master's  apartments  with  a  more  civil  demeanor, 
he  bade  the  guest  enter. 

Bragadino  was  seated  at  breakfast  beside  the 
open  window,  and  made  as  if  to  rise;  but  Casa- 
nova begged  him  not  to  disturb  himself. 

"My  dear  Casanova,"  exclaimed  Bragadino, 
"How  delighted  I  am  to  see  you  once  more! 
Who  would  have  thought  we  should  ever  meet 
again?"  He  extended  both  hands  to  the  new- 
comer. 

Casanova  seized  them  as  if  to  kiss  them,  but  did 
not  do  so.  He  answered  the  cordial  greeting  with 
warm  words  of  thanks  in  the  grandiloquent  man- 
ner usual  to  him  on  such  occasions.  Bragadino 
begged  him  to  be  seated,  and  asked  him  whether 

[  192  ] 


CASANOVAS       HOMECOMING 

he  had  breakfasted.  Told  that  his  guest  was  still 
fasting,  Bragadino  rang  for  his  servant  and  gave 
the  necessary  orders.  As  soon  as  the  man  had 
gone,  Bragadino  expressed  his  gratification  that 
Casanova  had  so  unreservedly  accepted  the  Su- 
preme Council's  offer.  He  would  certainly  not 
suffer  for  having  decided  to  devote  himself  to  the 
service  of  his  country.  Casanova  responded  by 
saying  that  he  would  deem  himself  hapi)y  if  he 
could  but  win  the  Council's  approval. 

Such  were  Casanova's  words,  while  his  thoughts 
ran  on.  He  could  no  longer  detect  in  himself 
any  feeling  of  hatred  towards  Bragadino.  Nay, 
he  realized  that  he  was  rather  sorry  for  this  man 
advanced  in  years  and  grown  a  trifle  foolish,  who 
sat  facing  him  with  a  sj)arse  white  beard  and  red- 
rimmed  eyes,  and  whose  skinny  hand  trembled  as 
he  held  his  cup.  The  last  time  Casanova  had 
seen  him,  Bragadino  had  probably  been  about  as 
old  as  Casanova  was  to-day;  but  even  then,  to 
Casanova,  Bragadino  had  seemed  an  old  man. 

The  servant  brought  in  Casanova's  breakfast. 
The  guest  needed  little  pressing  to  induce  him  to 
make  a  hearty  meal,  for  on  the  road  he  had  had  no 
more  than  a  few  snacks. 

"I  have  journeyed  here  from  Mantua  without 

[    193   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

pausing  for  a  night's  rest,  so  eager  was  I  to  show 
my  readiness  to  serve  the  Council  and  to  prove 
my  undying  gratitude  to  my  benefactor."  —  This 
was  his  excuse  for  the  ahiiost  unmannerly  greed 
with  which  he  gulped  do^vn  the  steaming  chocolate. 

Through  the  window,  from  the  Grand  Canal 
and  the  lesser  canals,  rose  the  manifold  noises  of 
Venetian  life.  All  other  sounds  were  dominated 
by  the  monotonous  shouts  of  the  gondoliers. 
Somewhere  close  at  hand,  perhaps  in  the  opposite 
palace  (was  it  not  the  Fogazzari  palace?),  a 
woman  with  a  fine  soi)rano  voice  was  practising; 
the  singer  was  young  —  someone  who  could  not 
have  been  born  at  the  time  when  Casanova  escaped 
from  The  Leads. 

He  ate  rolls  and  butter,  eggs,  cold  meat,  con- 
tinually excusing  himself  for  his  outrageous 
hunger,  while  Bragadino  looked  on  well  pleased. 

"I  do  like  young  people  to  have  a  healthy  appe- 
tite," said  the  Senator.  "As  far  as  I  can  remem- 
ber, my  dear  Casanova,  you  have  always  been  a 
good  trencherman !"  He  recalled  to  mind  a  meal 
which  he  and  Casanova  had  enjoyed  together  in 
the  early  days  of  their  acquaintance.  "Or  rather, 
as  now,  I  sat  looking  on  while  you  ate.  I  had  not 
taken  a  long  walk,  as  you  had.      It  was  shortly 

[    194   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

after  you  had  kicked  that  physician  out  of  the 
house,  the  man  who  had  almost  been  the  death  of 
me  with  his  perpetual  bleedings." 

They  went  on  talking  of  old  times  —  when  life 
had  been  better  in  Venice  than  it  was  to-day. 

"Not  everywhere,"  said  Casanova,  with  a  smil- 
ing allusion  to  The  Leads. 

Bragadino  waved  away  the  suggestion,  as  if 
this  were  not  a  suitable  time  for  a  reference  to 
such  petty  disagreeables.  "Besides,  you  must 
know  that  I  did  everything  I  could  to  save  you 
from  punishment,  though  unfortunately  my  ef- 
forts proved  unavailing.  Of  course,  if  in  those 
days  I  had  already  been  a  member  of  the  Council 
of  Ten!" 

This  broached  the  topic  of  political  affairs. 
Warming  to  his  theme,  the  old  man  recovered 
much  of  the  wit  and  liveliness  of  earlier  days. 
He  told  Casanova  many  remarkable  details  con- 
cerning the  unfortunate  tendencies  which  had  re- 
cently begun  to  affect  some  of  the  Venetian  youth, 
and  concerning  the  dangerous  intrigues  of  which 
infallible  signs  were  now  becoming  manifest. 

Casanova  was  thus  well  posted  for  his  work. 
He  spent  the  day  in  the  gloomy  chamber  at  the 
inn ;  and,  simply  as  a  means  to  secure  calm  after 

[    195    ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

the  recent  excitements,  he  passed  the  hours  in 
arranging  his  papers,  and  in  burning  those  of 
which  he  wished  to  be  rid.  "WHien  evening  fell, 
he  made  his  way  to  the  Cafe  Quadri  in  the  Square 
of  St.  IVIark,  since  this  was  supposed  to  be  the 
chief  haunt  of  the  freethinkers  and  revolutionists. 
Here  he  was  promptly  recognized  by  an  elderly 
musician  who  had  at  one  time  been  conductor  of 
the  orchestra  in  the  San  Samueli  Theatre,  where 
Casanova  had  been  a  violinist  thirty  years  before. 
By  this  old  acquaintance,  and  without  any  ad- 
vances on  his  own  part,  he  was  introduced  to  the 
company.  INIost  of  them  were  yoimg  men,  and 
many  of  their  names  were  those  which  Bragadino 
had  mentioned  in  the  morning  as  belonging  to 
persons  of  suspicious  character. 

But  the  name  of  Casanova  did  not  produce 
upon  his  new  acquaintances  the  effect  which  he 
felt  himself  entitled  to  anticipate.  It  was  plain 
that  most  of  them  knew  nothing  more  of  Casanova 
than  that,  a  great  many  years  ago,  he  had  for  one 
reason  or  another,  and  perhaps  for  no  reason  at 
all,  been  imprisoned  in  The  Leads ;  and  that,  sur- 
mounting all  possible  dangers,  he  had  made  his 
escape.  The  booklet  wherein,  some  years  earlier, 
he  had  given  so  lively  a  description  of  his  flight, 

[    196   ] 


CASANOVA    S      HOMECOMING 

had  not  indeed  passed  unnoticed;  but  no  one 
seemed  to  have  read  it  with  sufficient  attention. 
Casanova  found  it  amusing  to  reflect  that  it  lay 
within  his  power  to  help  everyone  of  these  young 
gentlemen  to  a  speedy  personal  experience  of  the 
conditions  of  prison  life  in  The  Leads,  and  to  a 
realization  of  the  difficulties  of  escape.  He  was 
far,  however,  from  betraying  the  slightest  trace 
that  he  harbored  so  ill-natured  an  idea.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  able  to  play  the  innocent  and  to 
adopt  an  amiable  role.  After  his  usual  fashion, 
he  entertained  the  company  by  recounting  all 
sorts  of  lively  adventures,  describing  them  as  ex- 
periences he  had  had  during  his  last  journey  from 
Rome  to  Venice.  In  substance  these  incidents 
were  true  enough,  but  they  all  dated  from  fifteen 
or  twenty  years  earlier.  He  secured  an  eager 
and  interested  audience. 

Another  member  of  the  company  announced  as 
a  noteworthy  item  of  news  that  an  officer  of 
Mantua  on  a  visit  to  a  friend,  a  neighboring  land- 
owner, had  been  murdered,  and  that  the  robbers 
had  stripped  him  to  the  skin.  The  story  attracted 
no  particular  attention,  for  in  those  days  such 
occurrences  were  far  from  rare.  Casanova  re- 
sumed his  narrative  where  it  had  been  interrupted, 

[    197   ] 


CASANOA^AS      HOMECOMING 

resumed  it  as  if  this  Mantua  affair  concerned 
him  just  as  little  as  it  concerned  the  rest  of  the 
company.  In  fact,  being  now  freed  from  a  dis- 
quiet whose  existence  he  had  hardly  been  willing 
to  admit  even  to  himself,  his  manner  became 
brighter  and  bolder  than  ever. 

It  was  past  midnight  when,  after  a  light-hearted 
farewell,  he  walked  alone  across  the  wide,  empty 
square.  The  heavens  were  veiled  in  luminous 
mist.  He  moved  with  the  confident  step  of  a 
sleep-walker.  Without  being  really  conscious 
that  he  was  on  a  path  which  he  had  not  traversed 
for  five-and-twenty  years,  he  found  the  way 
through  tortuous  alleys,  between  dark  houses,  and 
over  narrow  bridges.  At  length  he  reached  the 
dilapidated  inn,  and  had  to  laiock  repeatedly  be- 
fore the  door  was  opened  to  him  with  a  slow 
unfriendliness. 

When,  a  few  minutes  later,  having  but  half 
undressed,  he  threw  himself  upon  his  uneasy 
pallet,  he  was  overwhelmed  with  a  weariness 
amounting  to  pain,  while  upon  his  lips  was  a  bitter 
after-taste  which  seemed  to  permeate  his  whole 
being.  Thus,  at  the  close  of  his  long  exile,  did 
he  first  woo  sleep  in  the  city  to  which  he  had  so 
eagerly  desired  to  return.     And  here,  when  mom- 

[    198   ] 


Casanova's    homecoming 

ing  was  about  to  break,  the  heavy  and  dreamless 
sleep  of  exhaustion  came  to  console  the  aging 
adventurer. 

THE  END 


[  199  ] 


POSTFACE. 

It  is  a  historical  fact  that  Casanova  visited 
Voltaire  at  Ferney.  There  is,  however,  no  his- 
torical warrant  for  the  account  of  the  matter  given 
in  the  foregoing  novel,  and  still  less  for  the  state- 
ment that  Casanova  wrote  a  polemic  against  Vol- 
taire. It  is  a  historical  fact,  likewise,  that  Casa- 
nova, when  between  fifty  and  sixty  years  of  age, 
found  it  necessary  to  enter  Venetian  service  as  a 
spy.  Of  this,  and  of  many  other  doings  of  the 
celebrated  adventurer  to  which  casual  allusion  is 
made  in  the  course  of  the  novel,  fuller  and  more 
accurate  accounts  will  be  found  in  Casanova's 
Memoirs.  Speaking  generally,  nevertheless, 
Casanovas  Homecoming  is  to  be  regarded 
throughout  as  a  work  of  fiction. 

A.  S. 


[   201    ] 


FORM  NO.  DD6 


BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


4754M8 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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